Soul Bound
by Nightheart
Summary: The Soulbond has been considered a Gift of the goddess Mythal since before the ancient days of Arthalan, and is the only remaining blessing bestowed upon the Elvhen by their missing Gods... Just because you have a soulbonded mate doesn't necessarily mean you're going to like it.
1. Chapter 1

"The other mage is down," the deep, gravely voice noted with dry detachment on the edge of her consciousness as the world around her faded out.

The next thing she knew she was staring up into brilliant sunlight, lightly shaded by a blobby-shaped thing that resolved itself into the face of Fenris. The pepper-burn of a healing potion and the acid tang of adrenaline lingered on her tongue. Her other senses clocked in a short moment later, the salt-scent of the air, the sound of wind and seagulls... they had been traveling the wounded coast with Hawke, clearing out a knot of bandits at Avaline's request. The number of bandits had been much larger than they had been anticipating, and Merrill's own magic was not as strong as it normally was because she was taking one of her mandatory "breaks" from the blood magic in order to purge her system and keep her magic healthy.

_:My, his eyes are very green,:_ she thought, looking up into them with an almost spellbound fascination.

The eyes of a Shade Spirit were beautiful and terrible, filled with ancient knowledge but devoid of anything resembling empathy or an ability to connect to others. The ever-changing swirls and vortexes of rainbow colors that characterized Thier eyes at close gaze were beautiful, with a pulling fascination that could capture the unwary. Because of exposure to such uncanny dangerous beauty, Merrill always thought that a regular person's eyes looked bland and dull with its single color and lack of mysterious depth. Suddenly she was coming to think she may have been mistaken to dismiss the ordinary so easily. Much like his personality, Fenris' eyes were sharp and a little dark, but full of a tenacious vitality. It really was quite fascinating, she could sort of feel her self start to fall into them, like if she just let go she'd drown in their green depths and discover a treasure there so precious that it would change everything. All she had to do was-

She blinked as if awakening from a semi-trance, and shook her head to clear it of the strange thoughts that had moved into her mind. She was accustomed to strange thoughts, but really there were limits! She figured that Fenris was definitely one of them.

_:That last fellow must have hit me on the head harder than I thought,:_ she said to herself.

It was _Fenris_ after all, proud sword-carrying member of the Mage-haters-for-life clan. As such he was about as likely a source of romance for her as a tree stump. In fact, given the options, Merrill figured she was more likely to woo the tree stump than she was the Tevinter fugitive. Merrill's mind obligingly supplied the image for her silly whimsy, herself and a tree stump inside a Circle of Bonding with Marethari overseeing the vows and tying the ribbon around her hand connecting to an outreaching branch.

_:Still easier to imagine than me and him,:_ Merrill thought with an inward giggle.

_**((A.N. And still a better love story than Twilight!))**_

_:Oh, but then all of the other trees in the forest would be jealous I suppose,:_ her thoughts continued on, wending merrily down their usual strange twists and turns. She had an image of herself having to fight an epic battle with every tree in the forest, trying to crowd in on their love. _:And there's not a clan big enough in all the world to marry the whole forest... That must be why Elvhen are not supposed to frolic in the woods.:_

"Find your feet, witch," he commanded gruffly, interrupting her thoughts. "It is time we were off."

"You alright, Daisy?" Varric called over from where he was carefully working away at the lock of a chest.

"Just fine," she called back reassuringly to her friend as she looked around for her staff.

"Your magic seems as though it was... less effective than usual," Fenris said frankly. "If you are weakened, you should inform the party so that we can adjust our strategy accordingly."

As usual, Merrill wasn't able to tell if he was scolding her or trying to express something akin to concern (well, for Fenris anyway). She'd say probably both, but for Fenris to be concerned for her would probably cause a rift in the fabric of the universe.

"Och, dinna fash yerself!" Merrill snapped, a rare flash of irritation overtaking her. "Yeh ken I'll be after handling my own affairs. I dinna tell ye how tae swing yer sword mon, I dinna naed yer advise on how tae handle my spells!"

"Your accent," he noted.

"Oh!" she startled, dismayed. "So sorry... it just slipped out there. I'll stop talking."

Now everyone was starting at her. She didn't feel like explaining to them the recent and increasing irritability she'd been developing over the last several months during her regular periods of "fasting." To do blood magic correctly and not to succumb to it meant being very careful, keeping a strict regimen, and above all maintaining ironclad control. Merrill had been consumed by her progress with the mirror the last few days.. or had they been weeks? She was starting to loose track of time.

_:Time... and other things...:_ she thought with a guilty flush.

If she was going to court the dangers of blood magic and not turn out like Fenris repeatedly said she would at every opportunity (belaboring the point really) she needed to be vigilant. She had slipped this last week or so, the progress she was making on the mirror had pushed everything else to the background in importance. She didn't sleep much, but it seemed that she didn't really need to sleep as much anymore. She lost track of day or night, and left her work reluctantly and only to do the bare minimum to keep up her body. It was only when she'd run out of her last scrap of food and her stomach was twisting in agony that Merrill had come out of her semi-trancelike state and awoken fully to her condition.

The mess of her quarters and the fact that she could tell by looking at her body that she'd dropped a lot of weight had felt like a shock of cold water, one that had a chill that lingered even now. She was slipping. She couldn't afford to slip, not with a Fade Spirit involved in the mix. Feeding her body had been the first step, and she had resolved at that moment that a good long fast from the blood magic to reassert her control over herself was in order. Hawke's mission could not have come at a better time. Left to herself, the mirror called her with its unfinished state, silently reprimanding her for not working harder to aid her people and recover thier lost history. Cutting herself off from the extra boost of power that blood magic gave her was becoming much harder than it had ever been.

"Can I help you?" she prompted as Fenris crossed his arms over his breastplate and stared down at her in disapproval.

"You've lost weight, witch."

"Why Fenris, that almost sounded like concern," she said, feeling just a mite uncharitable in the face of his thinly-veiled disdain for her. "Is the sky about to fall do you think? Maybe the Fade will open up and we'll all be invaded by six-foot fluffy, tap-dancing bunnies?"

"I will not be sidetracked by your comments, and no-one is laughing," he said in reply as he paced around her. She looked up at him from where she sat on the sandy ground in exasperation.

"That sing acapella," she finished firmly. After all, the notion was too good a one not to share.

In reply Fenris crouched down in front of her and raked his eagle-eyed gaze over her, scowling in concentration as he took in every feature minutely, searching for something, probably signs that she was loosing hr grip on her blood magic. That was when it happened.

Merrill met his clear, green gaze for a moment and suddenly the world shifted. The spirit part of her thumped like a large drum, pulsing in resonance to... to him. A strange electric hot-cold wave washed over her and the spirit-part of her, the part that was made of fire and magic and soul stretched beyond its cage of flesh and reached, trying to form the connection to the other part of itself that it recognized, that part that it needed to be complete. And she could feel him, the essence of him reaching back toward her. For just an instant she saw him soften, his face taking on a strange vulnerability that was completely at odds with everything she knew of his snarky, snarling independence. Merrill's own natural inclination to reach out, to soothe and nurture, tried to assert itself but then in a flash she was reminded of all she would loose, all her people would loose, if it happened. The price of her magic belonged to her and her alone, but a soulbond caused a connection in which everything was _shared._ If it was allowed to form she would have to give up everything; her mirror, her Bargain with the spirit, all she had worked for. In a panic, Merrill yanked her essence back and stuffed it back inside of herself by resorting to an old mage-trick to bring about instant calm, then broke the connection of their gaze... by yelping like something had bit her and scrambling away from him in a blind panic.

"Are you okay?" Hawke called over from where he was currently sifting through a pile of rubble in hopes of finding something worth keeping. Merrill had darted to the other side of the camp as though Fenris had just tried to light her on fire.

"I, uh, yes! Yes. I just, um... thought I saw something..." she said distractedly, gulping in deep breaths and trying to calm her racing heart.

_:Mythal preserve me! It cannot be, it simply cannot!:_ she thought in a terrified panic. _:By the sacred bones of my Ancestors, this is... it just __**can't**__ be!:_

Oh she recognized it of course. She was First to a Keeper, she knew the old lore better than any other Dalish would or could. Many of the ancient elves fondest stories and legends had centered around the Vi'shai Anah, the soul-bonded mates. She was a follower of the Goddess Mythal herself, had Her valaslin markings tattooed over her face as a reminder of her devotion, and it was said that the soul-bond was a direct gift of the Goddess to both reward and protect her Chosen. Merrill could not imagine what about her or him could possibly have alerted the attention of the non-existant Goddess, or why she might single them out for the (dubious) honor.

_:Dubious and __**unwelcome**__ honor!:_

Merrill peeked back over at Fenris who had risen back to his feet and was now attending to the grim task of ensuring that all of those bandits they had killed were truly dead and not faking it; he was methodically spearing the tip of his longsword point-first, down through their throats, delivering instant death if any still lived and ensuring those dead stayed that way. He didn't take enjoyment in the task, but he didn't seem particularly affected by it either, it always made Merrill feel more than a little ill to watch him. He didn't have any expression at all aside of his usual, frowny face.

_:Mythal preserve me!:_ Merrill repeated to herself, a fresh wave of panic overtaking her. _:Not that I've ever questioned Her infinite wisdom but... Fenris?! No, there must be some mistake. My magic might be acting up. Or maybe we're close to a thin spot in the veil. Or... or maybe I've had too much sun, or not enough exercise or... or anything. Please, please __**please**__ don't let this be real. Not that I dislike him but... but he's so __**mean**__, and... bad tempered and I'm afraid he'd rip my heart out.:_

In more ways than the literal sense, though he was one of the only people she'd ever seen who could manage it.

"Are you sure you're okay Daisy?" Varric asked as he walked over to her.

"I! Oh! Um, just, j-just fine, really! Oh my, that salt-sea air is really doing me wonders, it feels so nice to get out of the house!"

She just knew that Varricc wasn't convinced by her forced cheer.

"It's just that, you do look pale," he pursued.

"And skinny," Hawke chimed in.

"Nothing that a warm meal and a day out..." Merrill paused, a notion occurring to her.

There was only one person in the whole wide world that Merrill could trust with something like this. Her teacher would know! Keeper Marethari would be able to tell her that this was all some kind of weird hallucination brought on by too little sleep and too much blood magic, if she just lay off the mirror a while everything would go back to normal and she wouldn't have to be soul-bonded to a grumpy mage-hater. Not that she didn't respect Fenris (despite his unfortunate personality). He was a fine warrior, the way he could cleave his way through enemies, his strong arms swinging his blade, muscles rippling, so _manly_ and supple-

"Noooo!" Merrill slapped her cheeks with both hands and shook her head violently to erase the traitorous thoughts already trying to creep their way in.

"Um..." Hawke said. "We've known each other a long time now, and I can say that you're acting stranger than usual."

"You're right!" Merrill agreed, an epiphany born of desperation dawning on her. "Hawke! You're right, we have known each other a long time! It's been _years_ at least... if it we going to be that, surely it would have happened long before now. It's not just something that pops up out of the blue. Och, sure an' yer a lifesaver! I don't know what I was thinking."

"I don't either Merrill, but that's nothing new for me," he replied, sounding amused.

"Are we done here?" Fenris demanded in a bored tone.

She leaped to her feet and hurried off back down the way they had come, relief flooding her and the call of her mirror beckoning to her over the distance. She ignored the three way glance the other men in her party exchanged behind her back.

_:It's so silly! The very idea is ridiculous,:_ she told herself as they hurried back to Kirkwall. _:It absolutely__** can't**__ be a soulbond. If it were a soulbond it would have happened the instant we first met. All the stories say so, well __**almost**__ all of them anyway. There is that one... well, Valen was never a credited bard anyway so he doesn't count. I definitely don't have a Goddess-bound connection to mister grouchy-gauntlets back there!:_

That was her story and she was sticking to it.


	2. Chapter 2

For once, it was too quiet. Normally he enjoyed the peace and solitude of the place he had made for himself in the abandoned mansion of his former master's vassal, but that night he was filled with a strange restless energy. He had spent the first half of the evening pacing before the fire and drinking some of the finer bottles appropriated from the previous residents store of wine, but to little effect. He felt irritated and out of sorts, restless like a caged beast. Finally, he had decided that what he needed was some fresh air to clear his head, and possibly to be in the company of other people. It was a different kind of solitude but right then he felt that he could use a distraction to help him quiet his restlessness. A short trip over the rooftops to evade patrols by the city guard (why not help out Aveline since she was helping him?) and the gangs of thugs in the rougher areas of town (there were rooftop thugs too, but they were smaller in number and more easily handled or evaded) led him to the street in Lowtown where the Hanged Man was.

_:It is unusually busy tonight...:_ he noted to himself.

It seemed that a ship full of sailors native to the area had pulled into port and decided to make the Hanged Man their watering hole for the evening. The sailors had brought their own musical accompaniment, a set of remarkably good amateurs from either Rivaini or Eastern Tevinter, as it had the drums and intricate guitar picking characterized by the area. Isabella was having to struggle to keep her usual post by the bar open, as she was being jostled by several sailors for the honor of being closest to the watering hole. He was about to call a greeting when Isabella turned with two bottles of wine (one in each hand) and made her way back over to their usual table.

_:Looks like it's Ladies Night Out, I suppose that explains why I wasn't invited,:_ he thought as their usual table had been commandeered and occupied by a small party consisting of Isabella, Merrill and Aveline, with Orana meekly slinking on one side and two more female guards on the other side.

"Isabella, I strongly advise against this!" Avaline scolded when the pirate set the bottle merrily down in front of Merrill, with that wide smile she had on whenever she was about to do something naughty and fun and troublesome... and get away with it.

_:Merrill and wine? Not a good combination,:_ Fenris thought, dread at the thought of what that mage might do if she lost all her inhibitions. He wasn't sure he wanted to fight demons that night, he was restless but he wasn't that restless.

"Oh lighten up, captain," Isabella brushed off, clearly having had more than a few already. "Let my little kitten have her fun. Besides, you heard her say it... I wanna see it."

"I hardly think that the Hanged Man is a designated elvhen frolicking area under any stretch of the imagination," Aveline subsided with a grumble as Isabella poured more wine into the cup in front of Merrill with a saucy grin, ignoring the older woman's objections.

"It's so unusual to be able to feel the breeze on my tummy," Merrill slurred brightly. "Are you sure this is normal clothes to wear to a Naming Day party?"

"Sure I'm sure, kitten!" Isabella said brightly, clearly lying through her teeth. "And happy little Naming Day to _me_!"

"I think you're lying about it being your Naming Day just as an excuse to dress her up in that ridiculous-"

Aveline paused at the wounded, kicked puppy look that Merrill shot her about the clothes Isabella had clearly picked out for her.

"Ridiculously _pretty_ outfit you've... _poured_ her into,"Aveline amended.

"Oh! Do you really like it?" Merrill asked brightly. "It's a lot different from what I usually wear!"

"Yes. Yes it is," Isabella agreed, her grin getting even wider at all of the things she was getting away with that evening.

Fenris stared, and he was not the only one.

_:Isabella...:_ he thought shaking his head.

He didn't know whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that the pirate herself had no shame, but she shouldn't go around corrupting the (relatively) innocent into her schemes. But it was an utterly Isabella-like thing to do. Merrill's new clothes consisted of not a while awful lot. The red bodice top was a sleeveless band over her breasts that bared her midriff. Small beaded fringes with tiny golden bell-balls did nothing to disguise the intricate Dalish knotwork tattoos climbing up her belly and down her shoulders and upper arms. Apparently their faces were not the _only_ thing that the Dalish tattooed. The bottom skirt was a collection of thin, filmy cloud- silk scarves, slitted to reveal more knotworks climbing up her thighs like vines over a wall. Granted, in the Tevinter Imperium he had seen bedroom slaves that wore less, but seeing Merrill in such a costume made him want to grab the nearest cloak he could find, throw it over her and hustle her out of there before she caused a riot.

The band in the background began a new song, one with a sort of sensuous beat to it, made for a certain sort of dancing. Isabella's smile got even wider as she heard it, yet more demonic mischief clearly occurring to her.

"I've heard you elves know how to dance," Isabella called over to Merrill. "Let's see it!"

"Here? Now?" Merril asked, clearly caught off guard, and shy. "Like this?"

"It's my Nameday request!" she commanded merrily.

"This can only end in trouble," Aveline muttered.

"Have some more wine, it'll loosen you up," Isabella advised.

_:Where in the Void is Varric, and why is he not putting a stop to this?:_ Fenris wondered, dismayed as he watched the already tipsy elf down the rest of the wine in her cup like it was nothing more dangerous than tea. He could tell it hit her instantly because she tossed the cup over her shoulder and called out

"Louder!"

The musicians happily obliged, and the rest of the pub all turned in their chairs to watch the spectacle as Merrill stepped up firmly onto the table. He would have thought that, as awkward as Merrill was in the entire rest of her life, she would have been stiff and shy about this, but either the wine was really making her loosen up or she was secretly naturally confident as a dancer, none of her usual awkwardness showed itself when she raised her arms and arched her back into a starting pose.

"Niiice," Isabella encouraged and in reply Merrill sent a tipsy smile and a saucy wink her way.

Whatever else one could say about her, Merrill knew how to work it. She felt the music down in her hips, her body flowed smoothly into the rhythm, writhing as supple and sinuous as a snake. At a dip in the music she fell gracefully to her knees on the tabletop, bent all the way over backwards, hips still moving easily in rhythm while she crooked a finger under Isabella's chin then tugged her by the bodice of her shirt right over top of her, shimmying slowly in time to the music.

_:Danarius would have paid a small fortune for her,:_ he thought in distant horror as the other patrons in the club called out their appreciation for the show in various ways.

He might detest Merrill and her stupid choices but he was as helpless as any other man in the face of watching two very, very attractive women writhing on a table top together and enjoying it. Merrill pointed Isabella backwards off her and showed off her excellent muscle control as she flowed up sensuously to follow her. The pirate queen, by the looks of things, was having a fine time as Merrill led her up onto her feet, moving to the music, hips swaying sensuously as they both moved together back to front, thier bodies twined together moving sensuously to the music. The rest of the patrons were shouting and whistling and pounding their mugs and a few daring souls tried to get close enough to touch only to be forcibly shoved back by Aveline and the two guards-women.

_:Those two really __**are**__ going to cause a riot,:_ he thought to himself with a heavy inward sigh.

Indeed, the natives were starting to get restless. Several of the more drunken sots took it into their heads to rush at the table and Aveline and her two friends were forced to demonstrate the inadvisability of the maneuver.

_:Best to nip this in the bud. I know Isabella would enjoy the fight that would ensue anyone trying to lay a hand on her, but I don't fancy the idea of watching a drunken mage try to cast a fire spell. It could end badly. Send that woman to the Void for putting me in this position.:_

Fenris wasn't sure if he meant Merrill or Isabella. Merrill could be a bit of a pushover when it came to things she thought might make one of her friends happy, and Isabella was always willing to use that to amuse herself in a usually harmless fashion (like the time Isabella had convinced Merrill that flying kites along the Wounded Coast was a kirkwallian rite of passage).

Fenris snatched the cloak right off the back of a nearby patron who was already slumped over his table drunk and snoring, and strode towards where the two women were having a marvelous time whipping the whole bar into a frenzy. Isabella, naturally, was quite well aware of her own attractiveness and took an almost malicious delight in what her beauty did to the men around her. Merrill however was blissfully oblivious to all the fuss and the fact that it was centered around her.

"Oh! Fenris!" Merrill called with drunken cheer. "It's a party, you should join us!"

Isabella shot a wickedly amused look over her shoulder, as she stroked a hand over Merrils bared midriff and echoed

"Oh yes, you should join us," in a sultry tone.

Fenris did little more that roll his eyes as the pirate's usual innuendo.

"I think you've had enough fun for one evening," he told the naughty pirate firmly.

As Merrill twirled away from Isabella in the dance, Fenris deftly threw the voluminous cloak over the petite elven woman and adroitly tugged her forward so that she fell over one shoulder, bared feet kicking into the air in front of his torso as she let out an small 'oof!' The look Aveline shot him was one of pure gratitude that said she was much happier at having the situation resolved in a way that did not involve mountains of paperwork for her and her lieutenants.

"Hey!" Isabella pouted. "It's _my_ nameday celebration and you're stealing my present. As the resident pirate, the plundering of booty around here is rightfully my territory."

"Then consider the prevention of unnatural disasters mine," he replied dryly as he carried the tiny woman out over his shoulder.

_:Really, what is she __**thinking**__?:_ he grumbled to himself as he carried the little malificar out of the bar.

_:Oh wait, Isabella is probably __**not**__ thinking. Not with her head anyway.:_

It was not a fact she cared to disguise that the shipless pirate merrily swung in both directions. In Fenris' opinion that was just one more sign that she was merely greedy. One should pick a gender and sleep with it consistently, none of this shilly-shallying about the question.

"Fenris, put me down!" Merrill called from behind him where she hung over his shoulder, her voice muffled by the cloak he'd thrown over her.

He exited the pub and started down the night streets toward the alienage, trusting in the bribes that Varric had been paying out to keep them both safe during his relatively vunerable journey.

"No," he said shortly.

A good deal of her power, he knew, came from contact with the earth beneath her feet. She had power of her own naturally, every mage did, but any additional power he could deny her access to would mean less trouble for him to deal with later.

"Pleeeeease," she wheedled. "I can walk. I walk very well, I promise. I can even dance, why didn't you let me dance? It's been so long since I've danced..."

She sounded so pathetic.

_:It's her own decision to leave her home and people,:_ he thought, not feeling a bit sorry for her.

"And I promised Isabella I'd dance for her Nameday, I don't have much in the way of presents but I'm a good dancer, don't you think I'm a good dancer? I used to dance all the time back in Ferelden, the trees all really liked my dancing but my Keeper never seemed to approve much. I miss her."

Fenris felt his usual irritation with her spike up at her wistful tone. He had heard of such a thing called homesickness, but as a slave who'd never had a place of his own to feel like he was happy and belonged (until perhaps recently) he couldn't say he'd ever felt the same way. Hearing the longing in her voice just made him irritated with her all over again. Silly chit, turning her back on the ones she loved to go chasing useless history. He just didn't see how something that was so far in the past could be more valuable than the life she had in the present; it wasn't like the past she thought was so damned important was going to change anything _now_. It would be just one more bit of useless trivia, another story to be passed along. How in the world could such a useless thing be worth casting aside a warm home, a clan who loved her, a valued place in the lives of people she clearly cared about? It _wasn't_, not by his lights anyway.

"Idiot!" he cursed at her, half-tempted to dump her over the side of the harbor, maybe the shock of the cold water would bring her to her senses.

_:At the very least she might sober up,:_ he thought in dry amusement.

"Fenriiis," she whined. "I want down. Your spiky thingies are digging into my hip."

"Be silent woman," he commanded. "It's still late at night, and the last thing either of us need is to attract the wrong kind of attention. I won't have you lighting us both on fire by trying to cast magic while inebriated."

"I've seen _you_ fight when you're drunk, or mostly there," she argued back in the way that was entirely typical of her. She hated letting him have the last word, it was just too bad for her he was so good at getting it anyway.

"That's different," he replied, jostling her a little on his shoulder and pretending that he didn't think it wasn't funny when she let out another little soft grunt from his treatment. "I only swing a sword and hit people, you control the elemental forces of nature and the raw power of the Fade. There's a great deal more that can go wrong with your process than with mine."

"I'm not going to light us on fire," she pouted wriggling a little to try to get out of his grip.

"Cease your struggling witch, and I'll drop you off the side of the harbor," he said.

"Don't you mean _or_ you'll drop me off the side of the harbor?"

"No."

She stilled obediently. And he was able to carry her back to the alienage without any incident. That fact alone was a testament to all the money that Varricc was likely sinking into keeping the young Dalish mage safe on the streets at night. he rolled his eyes again when he noticed that her door was unlocked and hanging partly open then revised the amount of money that Varric was spending on keeping her safe quite a bit higher.

His lyrium markings flared slightly in reaction to the powerful magic that lingered in the air once he crossed her threshold. His lips curled back in distaste as his figurative hackles rose. He could feel by the heat of the burn that it was blood magic, regular magic had a cleaner, almost icy-hot feel to it. The place was a mess, and coming from him, that was saying something. Books and papers were scattered about, dishes piled up in the "washing corner" of her house, and detritus of whatever she was working on simply left in piles here and there forcing him to step carefully on his way back to her room. The "mirror" stood with seeming innocuous quiescence in the corner of her room, a large platter of glass shards nearby being slowly fitted together, but Fenris was not fooled for a moment, he could _feel_ the menace of it by the simple presence of potential power. The demon-mirror exuded an aura of taint and wrongness the same way a midden stank of foulness. Fenris' eyes narrowed at the sight of that thing, his flesh around the lyrium markings crawling just being near it.

_:How can she stand it?!:_ he wondered to himself.

He was greatly tempted indeed to take his sword to the cursed thing and have done with it. He had a feeling it would save a lot of pain and sorrow in the long run all around. Only wariness about what he might accidentally unleash in the middle of a crowded alienage with only himself and the blood-witch (who in fact had a pact with it) stayed his hand.

"Creepy thing," he muttered.

He watched it warily as he stepped into the room... and had the eerie feeling that it was watching him back.

_:Creepy and dangerous,:_ he amended.

Merrill tried to slip down off his shoulder, but he checked her firmly, watching the demon-mirror and waiting to see if it would do anything. After all, this was its potential future host he was holding... and if it reacted to him as it would react to a threat, he'd have proof positive that the thing was getting out of hand. He watched carefully, waiting to see how it would react, and after a long moment he felt the sense of presence in the room withdraw a bit, as though deciding that a direct confrontation was not worth it right then.

_:Of course it doesn't want a direct confrontation, not when it knows that all it needs to do is wait patiently and it's own sacrificial lamb will climb herself up onto the altar and present her throat.:_

He felt foolish for not having come to investigate the source of her little obsession earlier. Everyone took her word for the fact that things were fine and it wasn't dangerous and she had it all under control. He'd been content to lecture her about it up until then, but now that he had seen her little demon-mirror for himself, he could not in good conscience let the situation rest as it was. Not after he had seen the circles under her eyes and felt for himself how much weight she had lost. Her obsession was beginning to gain the upper hand.

_:I will pay her Keeper a visit, and soon,:_ he promised himself.

Despite her foolish rebellion phase, the chit still gave her teacher's words great credence, which was perhaps the only sensible thing she did. If he could enlist the aid of Hawke and even one or two of the others of their set, it would not be so hard to pressure her out of her foolish quest.

_:Probably,:_ he reminded himself.

For all that she was gentle and soft-hearted, Merrill could have an incredible stubborn streak when it came to her demon-mirror and the lost knowledge she hoped to gain from it.

"Here," he said, setting her on her feet on the dirty floor of her room. "Sleep it off."

"Um..." she called as he turned on his heel to leave, stopping him. He looked back over her shoulder.

"Would you do me a favor Fenris?" she asked.

"I owe you nothing," he said shortly.

"That's why it's called a favor," she said patiently.

"Ask," he replied.

It might not be such a bad thing if she felt she owed him something, she might be inclined to be more reasonable... or at least less annoying, he'd settle for that.

"Will you swear you'll never touch me? I mean, skin to skin that is. Not that there's anything bad about you," she added hurriedly as though just now realizing how offensively her words could be taken. "I'm just saying, that I... um, I'm... there's a certain thing I need to look into and I don't want anything getting confused. I mean, I need to look into it first and this is just a precaution, but why take chances?"

"You must be well and truly foxed," he replied, frowning at the implication he would do any such thing. "You're making even less sense than usual. But for what it's worth, that is not something you need to worry about. I am... I have an aversion to physical contact in the first place, and mages make my skin crawl."

Not as much as that demon-mirror of hers gave him the shudders, but there was no denying that the aura's of powerful mages had an effect on the lyrium markings in his skin. Yet another reason why he was always so short tempered and cutting in the company of mages, just thier mere presence alone was like a subtle irritation along his markings.

"Oh. Well. That's good then. Remember that you promised! Not even if I'm dying and touching me will save my life, you must keep your distance, got it?"

He snorted, both at the likelihood that he'd save her life (much less touch her willingly to do so) and at the strange notion she had got into her head that she could order him around. He had given her no such vow.

"Good night foolish witch. Sleep off your crazy and don't join us in the morning, hm?"

Merrill yawned and sighed as she made herself comfortable. Drifting off to sleep as quickly and securely as the kitten that Isabella had nicknamed her for. In the warm, close air of the room Merrill hadn't bothered to pull on a blanket and the revealing outfit wasn't any less revealing now that she was asleep. The gentle curve of her spine was bared to him by the brevity of her top, her shoulders and neck vulnerable and oddly enticing. Her slender arms resting lightly above her head, curves of her thighs and calves playing peek-a-boo in the layers of her skirts and his traitorous mind presented him with images of what she had looked like dancing sensuously just an hour ago. What she might look like if she ... His skin abruptly glowed softly with the light of his lyrium markings.

_:Wait, what?:_ he questioned himself.

He was surprised to note that when he looked down at himself his markings were indeed lit up as bright as a full moon. Surprise bled quickly to dismay. His markings reacted strongly to his emotional state and for him to be in such a state involving the blood-witch was... disquieting.

Scowling, he tugged the edge of the blanket out from under where she lay and threw it over top of her. There, problem solved.

_:I hope she has a nasty hangover,:_ he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

"Uhhhg..." Merrill groaned as she moved groggily.

Her eyes felt like they had been glued shut with the special halla-hoof glue that was used to recurve iron-wood bows, they were so dry and gummy. Her throat felt scratchy and the smell characteristic to the Hanged Man still clung to her unwashed skin. Above all of those was a lingering nausea worse than the seasickness she had felt in the hold of the ship that had carried her from Ferelden, and the feeling that a host of tiny dwarves had taken up residence inside her skull and were currently trying to mine their way out of it with pickaxes.

She rolled onto her stomach, praying to Mythal that she would no loose its contents in the process, and looked blearily around her. She was in her rooms.

_:Mythal preserve me!:_ Merrill thought in amazement.

Perhaps her Goddess truly did exist somehow and had taken an especial interest in Merrill. That was the only way she could think of the explain how Fenris, of _all_ people, had picked her up and dragged her out of the Hanged Man the evening previous and plunked her down into her home. He had been as uncivil as ever he was, but the fact remained that he had taken her home, and without prompting.

_:Oh dear, maybe it's not a coincidence after all,:_ Merrill thought in dismay.

The thought that it might be another manifestation of the V'shai Anah sprang to the forefront of her mind.

_:And if that's the case, maybe I should stop calling on my Goddess so often, if being Bonded to Fenris is the way She chooses to answer my prayers.:_

All of the old legends made the V'shai Anah out to be this wonderful, glorious connection between two souls that promised eternal happiness and harmony. A beautiful unity that would be the envy of every "normal" pairing that relied on mere words to form connections that were easily misunderstood. V'shai Anah were supposed to be able to feel what the other felt, to know without words just what the other was thinking, to exist in a perfect state of sympathy in which thier hearts were eternally tied together as one. Considering who Merrill was supposed to be "enjoying" this supposedly blissful state with, she was now disinclined to trust the accuracy of the old legends. She couldn't imagine having anything remotely resembling harmony or unity (or, void, even civility) with that man.

_:This has all got to be some kind of mistake. I have to be imagining things, I just __**have**__ to be!:_ she thought.

She did have some hand-copied writings in ancient elvhen on the matter. The tales of the V'Shai Anah had always been favorites of hers. Some of them were tragic, yes, but the romantic side of her had always felt that the unconditional love and sympathy brought about by the bond was so beautiful. Keeper Marethari had always been more interested in the "expression of Divine Will" that supposedly characterized the Bond.

_:One more reason why we cannot possibly be V'Shai Anah,:_ Merrill thought with hopeful triumph. _:Fenris reveres the Maker, he's not even a follower of the True Faith. If we were to be Bonded, surely any expression of Divine Will would manifest itself between two elves who actually believe in the true Gods. That would make more sense. Mythal surely wouldn't pick an elf who doesn't even believe in Her, and much less one who holds such antipathy for Her daughter.:_

She rolled herself out of bed ignoring the extra emphatic throb in her head and the rising queasiness in her stomach and fumbled for a healing potion to take away the worst of the effects. They tasted horrible, they truly did, but a quick downing and she was feeling worlds better a moment later.

**_((A.N. This author imagines that they probably taste like those nasty energy shots.))_**

_:My, my,:_ she thought looking down at herself and shaking her head.

The clothes that Isabella had given her to wear for her Nameday party were very pretty, but there was just a lot less of them than she was used to wearing. Still, her exciting pirate friend had gone out of her way to give them to her and asked that she wear them as a way of helping Isabella cope with a sudden bout of homesickness for the music and costume of her people. Merrill could certainly sympathize with that, she had frequent bouts of homesickness for her clan and her Keeper, so she had set aside her scruples and wore the thing to make Isabella happy.

"I can't believe I nearly frolicked on a tabletop in the middle of a crowded bar..." she muttered to herself.

Merrill had never before had much sympathy with her age-mates in her clan or their drunken revelries, nor the sore heads she'd had to deal with on the morning afters. She usually had to deal with the aftermath including the various stories of silliness and stupidity that were always summed up with the words "it seemed like a good idea at the time." Keeper Marethari had discouraged her First away from strong drink since, as both a mage and a figure of importance in the community, she had both a mandate to remain always in control of herself _and_ to uphold a certain dignity due her rank. Thus, Merrill was a terrible lightweight. Isabella reveled in chaos because that was the sort of person she could be from time to time; naughty, selfish, provocative and free-spirited. Merrill was not really any of these things and she had Fenris (of all people) to thank for keeping things from getting out of hand. It was perhaps the first time in their association that the broody elf had shown her an act of thoughtfulness without Varric or Hawke twisting his arm.

_:I'll have to get him something nice,:_ she thought to herself.

A small petty part of her was mulishly rebellious at the thought of doing anything nice for someone who never had a single kind word to say to her, but she quashed it firmly. He had done her a favor, unasked ofr at that. This might be a way she could finally gain some common ground with him instead of his continuous rebuttals and disdain.

_:He really could use some plants,:_ she thought charitably._ :Perhaps a nice little house-tree like Hawke has, or some little potted flowers. I'll have to think about which ones will suit him best.:_

Off the top of her head she thought she'd get him the gladiolus flower, a flower that took its name from the Arcanum word for "sword" and in the Elvhen language of flowers meant "strength of character." It would certainly suit him well.

_:But first.. research!:_

She had to be _absolutely certain_ that this soulbonding thing couldn't happen between the two of them. Because really that would be doing an enormous disservice to them both. Fenris had escaped slavery and bondage in the Tevinter Imperium, no matter that the soulbonding would work both ways, it was _still_ a fetter. And a fetter to someone he despised in specific rather than just on general principle. He would certainly be miserable with her; likely resentful of having "love" for her forced on him by some Divine outside power, and angry at having his choice in the matter taken away from him. Come to that, Merrill wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea either. She already had her purpose in life mapped out, that was, saving her people with the eluvian; having a soulbond thrust on her would derail her plans entirely.

_:For a man who sits alone all night and day, squatting in his big, gloomy doom-castle in the middle of Hightown brooding on a past that cannot be changed, he certainly seems to have a lot to say about my choices,:_ she thought to herself.

The fair-minded part of her chimed in that, as a former slave and current fugitive, he didn't really have much in the way of choices at all, so perhaps seeing other people make choices he thought were bad ones probably annoyed him.

_:And besides, this soulbonding thing would force me to give up the eluvian!:_ Merrill thought in alarm.

The entire premise upon which her work with the blood magic and the mirror rested on was that, whatever price was to be paid to regain what was lost, that she would be the only one to pay it. After all, that was why she had voluntarily went into exile in the human city, so that her clan would not be affected by what she must do. Keepers, wise and wonderful as they were, were all too afraid to get their hands dirty. If one wanted something in the world, one paid a price for it, this was a universal tenet. The Tevinter magisters made others pay the price for the power they craved and this was why they were anathema, even to the relatively tolerant (magically speaking) Dalish. Merrill did not seek to offload the cost onto another, but likewise did she not believe that one could make an omlette without breaking some eggs.

_:But whatever cost that will be exacted on me for doing as I must, the only one who must be made to pay for my actions is __**me**__. This is my responsibility and that is why I am not as those mages that Fenris detests so.:_

A soulbond would change that. V'shai Anah were connected soul to soul in the same way that the magic of the Fade was woven into the physical body as warp threaded weft in a tapestry, they literally _were not_ separate, not entirely. Thus, if such a bond were forged between herself and another person, the price for the magic that only Merrill was supposed to pay would be shared with another, whether she willed it or not. There was no choice in the matter, this was the way the bond worked; both equal, both involved. Her blood magic _would_ affect him.

_:If we were souldbonded, I simply could not have that, by Mythal.:_

She would not allow such a thing. If she did, then that would make her no better, perhaps even worse, than the worst of the Teviner magisters. She would be exposing an innocent to the dangers of a magic she was now just beginning to see was not as cut and dried as she had at first assumed.

_:I must first ascertain under what conditions such a bond might form, and then find a way to prevent it!:_ she thought.

It was bad enough they were acquaintances who had to spend time with one another, though Fenris disliked her and everything she stood for. She _tried_ to understand him, but he rebuffed her at every turn, and made no effort to hide his disdain for her. He was rude, and his remarks were often deliberately cruel, when he made them he meant them to cut deeply. She did not want to be tied to a man like that, even if a soulbond was supposedly a mark of the Goddess Mythal's favor.

_:Even if giving up my work and the hope for my people to recover more of what has been lost was not at stake, I __**still**__ would not want to be bonded with him. But since my research on the eluvian is at stake here, I absolutely can't let it happen.:_

* * *

It was getting late in the afternoon when Merrill had scanned through all of the resources in her own private library in the main room of her house. It was perhaps the only real good thing about living in the human city that she could think of; ready access to written works. Among the Dalish Clans who traveled in aravels and were constantly on the move, the amount of written knowledge that could be accumulated was confined to what could easily be transported. Much of Dalish tradition was still oral for this reason alone. In the city, Merrill had been able to accrete as many books as she could fit on a shelf, and still keep collecting without having to worry about which she would be able to take with her, and which she must eventually leave behind.

_:Sadly, most books that are written in the human cities are about human concerns,:_ she thought.

The only books about the Dalish that covered the lore of the Elvhen were all ones that she had copied from her Keeper and brought with her. There were _some_ scholarly tracts about the elves, but they were all written from a human perspective, and lacked the appropriate background to truly be of use. Good for gathering facts, were these Human works, but for drawing appropriate conclusions... that was up to Merrill.

No human work ever referenced the soulbonding, so Merrill had to assume that it was something unique to her own people. She was not certain of it applied to all elves or just the Dalish. The only cases of V'shai Anah she had ever heard of were with other Dalish, but she didn't know if that was just because she was Dalish and thus isolated from the Tevinter and alienage elves or if it was an event that happened only among the followers of the old ways (presumably because the Goddess would only choose to bestow such a tremendous honor to her faithful children).

For all that her resources on the matter were few (and many of them running more to romantic tales than to factual historical accounts of the phenomenon) there was one point that they did all agree on; a soulbond between two people would be like a sleeping bud, alive with potential but quiescent, when the two destined souls met. It would only burst into bloom, that was, manifest itself as a true bond with all that entailed, when the two potential bondmates touched one another skin to skin. In most stories, the bonding was enacted with their first kiss, but the lore said this wasn't necessarily mandated, it could be a touch on the bare hand. Nearly all accounts had the quiescent bond credited as an instantaneous and nearly overwhelming attraction to one another, but there were some few accounts (older ones and some of them written by Keepers) that accounted particular examples of a bonding that started out just the opposite, that the two unfortunates took an instant dislike to one another.

_:Maybe it's not a soulbond after all,:_ she thought, mostly in relief but a teeny tiny part of her felt a little wistful about it, mostly at the thought of having solid proof of the goddess Mythal's favor in her life.

_:After all, I can't really say I strongly dislike Fenris. His constant cutting remarks wear on me, that's all. I understand where he's coming from, he's lived through things I probably can't even begin to imagine, I know he will never support the decision I've made but at the same time he's... he's __**mean**__! He's a __**meanie**__ about it.:_

For all the disdain and dislike he piled on her every time they met, Merrill could not help but feel sympathetic toward him for the most part, though he treated any attempt she made to express her sorrow for his suffering with open contempt. He always turned any attempt she made to express her sorrow for him right back on her and lectured her in the most cutting fashion, and his wit could be even sharper, and certainly cut more deeply, than the sword he carried.

Merrill tried hard to accept his disdain and contempt and his cutting remarks with equanimity, or at least outward serenity. If she was brutally honest with herself, and she tried to be, it wasn't like he was entirely, one hundred percent wrong _all_ the time about the way he felt. It was just that Merrill felt he wasn't always as right as he thought he was. Part of it was also her training as a Keeper. She had been raised to try to look beyond the surface of things and into the deeper hurts behind the words, and poor Fenris was a simmering cauldron of bitterness, anger and hate towards the world and especially toward the people who had hurt him. More than that, he felt robbed of his past which made him unable to build a future (especially while his past still hunted him...literally!). So he stewed and he brooded and he kept his wounds flowing fresh, and so all of that pain and anger bled out into those around him. He lashed out, particularly at those around him who bore any resemblance to the life he'd left. As a practicing Blood Mage, Merrill bore the most resemblance to the magisters that had done terrible things to him, it was no wonder he seemed to save his most cutting remarks for her.

_:And most days I'm able to remember all of this and keep a level head around him, but some days he makes it hard, that he does!:_ Merrill thought.

So there it was, nothing more supernatural between them than long exposure and an ability to see past appearances. There was no need for her to go making up legendary fancies and stirring up a pot of trouble.

"Och!" Merrill exclaimed to herself as a naughty and slightly malicious thought occurred to her. _:If any were to be soulbonded, it would have to be him and Anders! They're like two weasels in a whipple-pot! Always at each others throats.:_

Merrill could understand Fenris, even be able to sympathize with him on a good day... Anders and Fenris would never do anything but fight. Merrill could see that the different intensities of dislike Fenris felt for her and for Anders stemmed from a fundamental dichotomy. Fenris hated Merrill's continuing decision to pursue blood magic and thought her reasons behind it were stupid. He thought her foolish, but a fool might one day change their mind. Fenris hated what Ander's **_was_**. In his eyes, the healing mage (whom Merrill actually rather thought to be a very fine man for a shem) would never be anything but an abomination. Even so they were both mages, and Merrill rather thought that Mythal would not be so cruel as to soulbond a person to the one sort of person whose existence he detested.

_:Regardless of whether this is a soulbonding or not, I think I should take this as a sign that some re-examination is in order. A mage can't work in a tainted circle...:_

Oh but, surely she could do that _later_. She was nearly done with the third inch of the shards and she just knew that once she had that little bit done, then that one big piece would fit just right _there_. The reexamination could wait until-

_:Wait a minute...:_ Merrill thought, a cold knot beginning to form in her stomach.

This wasn;t the first time this had happened, in fact, this wasn't even the first time this had happened this week. A regular cleansing of her magical channels to keep them clean of taint and dark magic were what formed the majority of the bulwark of her defenses against influence and encroachment by the dark magic she wielded in order to restore the eluvian. She'd done them first thing in the morning when she'd woken every day after she first arrived in the alienage but lately she'd een finding reasons to put them off. It was easy just to augment her magical strength with a little blood magic and do a full cleansing later, but lately she'd found reasons to keep putting it off. She was making such great progress with the eluvian, and her magic didn't seem to be suffering from it.

With a soulbonding mixed into the works, any taint of dark magic she carried would possibly affect her potential bondmate and that was something that absolutely could not be risked. The very fact that she was trying to make an excuse to put off a good cleansing of her channels when someone else's life and health potentially hung in the balance as well was a big red banner waving in her face with the words "there's something wrong with this situation" printed on them in big bold letters. It occured to her suddenly that her strange bout of laziness with regards to the cleansing that was supposed to help keep her safe from the dangers of blood magic, the obsession with her mirror that blanked out everything else, and the bouts of irritablity she was getting when she didn't use her blood magic were possibly symptomatic of someone or something influencing her thoughts.

_:I think its high time I took a closer look,:_ Merrill thought to herself, her suspicions rousing for the first time in a long time.

She wasn't a suspicious person by nature, rather the opposite being true, but a mage couldn't be too careful, especially with blood magic.


	4. Chapter 4

Fenris woke that morning in a bad mood.

He stormed down to the Hanged Man and all but kicked in the door. As he had hoped, he caught the dwarf at his breakfast, with Hawke on one side of the table and Sebastion nursing a mug of tea on the other.

"Where in all of Thedas were you last night!" he demanded as he stomped over and slammed his gauntletted hands down on the tabletop, scowling feircely at the usually ever-present dwarf who had not been in attendence at the one time when things could have gone terribly wrong.

"What? Keep it down Broody, I just got in a few hours ago and I ain't had my beauty sleep. Even my beard's scraggly."

"Well while you were off galivanting about the town I had to stop the pirate from debauching the unsuspecting little twit-mage," Fenris growled in irritation.

The chantry brother choked on his tea at the announcment.

"What?" the dwarf asked face blank in surprise, clearly uncertain he'd heard him right.

"Really?" Hawke said, smiling widely with interest. "Debauching? This I gotta hear."

"Isabella did say something about a Nameday party eariler," Sebastion said, his Starkhaven brogue roughening in his distress. "But said it was no boys allowed."

"Quaintly put," Fenris grumbled. "Isabella seemed to think it a fine idea to make her comrades dress in the "costume of her people" and also to see how much she could get the chit to drink before someone put a stop to it."

"Wasn't Aveline here?" varric said, his tone indicating that she should have been the one in charge of keeping the party from getting out of hand (or maybe in Isabella's case, well into hand).

"She and her two guard companions had thier hands full controlling the crowd once the mage got up on the table and started dancing."

"Damn! And I missed it!" Hawke lamented.

"Why was the crowd rioting at her dancing?" Sebastion asked. "She wasn't flinging magic about, was she?"

"She didn't need to," Fenris grunted. "If she ever wants to give up her carreer as a maleficarum, I'm sure the Blooming Rose would pay generously for her talents as an entertainer."

"Careful Broody," Varric warned him that he comments were coming dangerously close to the sorts of slights he'd have to defend on her behalf.

"So what was this dance like, I want details," Hawke demanded.

All three of the rest of the men at the table looked at him with expressions of surprise (Sebastion) disdain (Fenris) and warning (Varric). The insoucient rouge just shrugged, unrepentant.

"What, don't tell me you all haven't thought she was hot at one point or another."

They continued to stare at him.

"And her and Bella together..." he whistled. "I would pay to see that!"

"Well thanks for looking out for her Fenris, I'll owe you one," Varric changed the subject.

"it was indeed a good turn you have done brother," Sebastion agreed with a note of approval.

"Yeah, but since when do you go out of your way to keep Merrill out of trouble?" Hawke asked next. "I kinda thought you couldn't stand her. I mean, you're always fighting, or is that fighting just another way of working off the tension of... anticipation?"

Fenris didn't other to hide his lipcurl of scorn at the very idea.

"I'm going to ignore that with a dignity it doesn't deserve," he said. "And if you must know, I only became involved to keep the witch from accidentally casting magic while inebriated and burning the whole place down around us. A preventative measure, nothing more."

"Boring as usual," Varric grunted.

"I'll get all the really good, juicy details out of Bels later," Hawke promised him.

"If I don't get them first," Varric corrected.

Fenris almost opened his mouth to express his concern about Merrills creepy demon-mirror but the fact that he would be sharing the news with a chantry brother stalled him. Sebastion was a good man to have in a fight, and as a member of the chantry was certainly more open and embracing than many he'd seen, he truly cared about people for instance instead of merely giving lip service to helping the poor and defenseless. he was a good man, but he did have a certain leeriness of the apostates in thier party. Ninety-nine percent of the time it was a feeling Fenris shared wholeheartedly, a large part of him was in agreement with the idea of locking up the abomination and throwing away the key. his feelings about Merrills situation however were more mixed.

_:She's a silly girl who uses blood magic and stubbornly refuses to see sense but... she's good inside. As much as she annoys me, and she does annoy me, I can't quite bring myself to do anything that would harm her.:_

Locking her away behind iron and stone, never allowed to be in the sun, surrounded by those who would hate every last thing she believes in with all of her heart, he couldn't imagine anything better designed to break her gentle spirit. He had seen too many broken before him when he had been powerless to prevent it, it would be by no action of his that one he had come to call comrade would be shattered.

_:Likewise, I'm certain by now that leaving her in the company of that mirror she's so obsessed with is simply __**asking**__ for trouble,:_ he thought.

"Do you think she's up for another trip to the Bone Pit?" Hawke asked him, as though reading his thoughts. "I know she's probably got a head from her adventures last night but Hubert has been urging me to go visit the wrkers and clear out any trouble I might find."

"Good notion," Sebastion agreed. "I'm always happy to do a service for the less fortunate."

Fenris said nothing but nodded his agreement. He wasn't entirely sure what one did about a demon-mirror in the middle of a city, aside of, perhaps, dump it in the harbor, but keeping the little blood-witch away from it for a time would be good for her.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't her imagination and it wasn't just stress. It was _real_. Merrill looked down at her hands which trembled a little in the early morning sun. As an experiment to prove to herself that she wasn't being manipulated by the spirit that she had made a pact with for its help restoring the eluvian, Merrill had sat herself down before the mirror and taken her tools and the shards in hand but instead of getting straight to work like she always did, she simply sat there.

At first she had felt normal but then after a few minutes a subtle restlessness stirred within her, a feeling like a person got when they had something they knew they should be doing right then. That feeling had very slowly, very subtly grew into a nagging desire to be doing something, a burning curiosity to see solve the next peice of the puzzle, like a bibliophile being left in the middle of the best part of the book. Desire became a compulsion too strong to be ignored or set aside. The feeling grew so intense that Merrill was almost forced to get up and pace to expend the restlessness. Merrill then tried to turn her thoughts and concentration somewhere else, but they always slowly cicled back around to the eluvian and a desire to resume the task of fixing it. That was how she knew that the desire did not come from within herself, but was being imposed on her from the outside.

_:Keeper Marethari and Anders were both right; a spirit as powerful as the one I bargained with would never be satisfied with the tiny prize I offered as recompnse for its services. It's been there in the back of my thoughts, urging me on, whispering to me, and I wasn't even aware of it. It's been __**using**__ me!:_

Marethari had always told her that a Keeper and mage both must listen to the voice deep within, especially when it told her uncomfortable truths. In the last few weeks, Merrill had known deep down she had been brushing that voice aside, eagre to see what the eluvian would reveal to her when she was finished restoring it. She had been skimping on her spiritual cleansing, on her meditation, on her grounding and centering excersizes. These were the bulwarks that were supposed to enable her to keep her channels clear of blood magic taint and keep her mind and spirit firmly her own in the face of the subtle enticements of demons. She had been letting them slide lately. At first it had only been a morning here and there. It had been so easy to just bolster her magic with a little blood magic and promise herself that she'd do a more thorough cleansing later. Then, as she was drawn more deeply into her work, the lapses became more frequent always with the mental promise that she'd make it up later.

_:Mythal preserve me...:_ she thought, a chill overtaking her body as the weight of the realization of what had almost happened, of what she had almost allowed to happen, fell on her like a collapsing tunnel.

It had been the demon at work, manipulating her subtly. It was wearing away slowly at her defenses, getting her to make her own excuses and moving its influence in slowly, deeper and deeper. Taking over her channels a little at a time, keeping her too distracted with her obsession to do the proper cleansing that would have made her aware of its spreading influence on her magic, and ever so slowly making her more dependent on the power of blood magic.

_:I... I almost proved Fenris right!:_ she thought in horror.

The spirit she'd dealt with was not going to be content with the pithy settlement from thier agreement, of that she was now certain right down to the marrow of her bones. Marethari had been right in that, certainly, as had Anders and Fenris and everyone else who had warned her away from her path. Merrill had thought that she had been playing the long game, patiently restoring the eluvian so that her people could regain what they had lost, she now saw that the spirit had been playing a longer game still with her body and soul as the prize.

For the first time in what she was coming to see had been a long time, Merrill really woke up and looked around her. She used magesight, a particular sort of doublevision that talented mages used to stare at both aspects of reality, the physical realm that everyone saw normally and the Beyond which was layered over and woven into the fabric of reality the same way that soul-energy was part of a physical body. What she saw made her shiver. Her home, the place where she slept and ate and worked, which was supposed to be kept clear and purified of all negative energy so that she could work with a clear head, was saturated with a subtle taint. Watching the flows and currents of the energies Merrill recognized the patterns, a variation on a mind-hex, sort of like an aversion spell but it worked subtly and undetectably on the target's thoughts and will.

_:I'm not quite sure exactly what it's supposed to do,:_ she thought as she let her mage sight go. _:But I can give a pretty good guess. It's definitely an aversion spell, and one that works in tandem with my own wishes and as well as my... my weaknesses.:_

The spell was designed to keep her isolated by subtly turning her thoughts away from asking for help from her Keeper, from her friends, from anyone. That demon wanted her in its own power, and it was using her own solitary nature against her. Every time she thought about leaving her work on the mirror or possibly going to someone for some advice, the spell let her own mind supply the reasons why she should put it off for later. She was already a proud woman who disliked asking for help, her magical talent had always been so strong that she'd rarely had to, the spell played on that pride too. She had been slowly sinking deeper and deeper into its grasp and she hadn't even realized it.

_:That stops __**now**__!:_ she vowed.

She wasn't, quite, willing to give up the mirror entirely (and the fact that she felt that way, she knew, was likely due to the influence of the demon, but she'd consult her Keeper on the matter first). Merrill had sunk three years of her life into restoring it, had given up her life in her clan for it, had taken up Blood Magic for it, and she wasn't quite ready to write it all off as a loss and start over.

_:First things first though, I do know this; Keeper Marethari was right about about the Blood Magic. The demon was manipulating me through it and as long as I use it, I will be subject to It's will.:_

When it came to magic, either one was the master or one was the slave, there was no room for middle ground. She knew that now. The manipulation of primal, elemental forces required nothing less than utter, complete and total mastery over ones Self. To relinquish that mastery was to become the slave. In her case she still had enough control to regain what territory inside of herself that the demon had subtly been taking control of, but she had to act quickly.

She knew that in this case the subtle workings of the demon's magic was much like the way a strangler fig worked its way into the crevices of a host tree, feeding off its nutrients wrapping round its roots and trunk and branches, growing steadily stronger until the host tree eventually died, leaving only the fig. The demon was still relatively small but she would have to rip it out entirely, root and branch and leaf, leaving no vestige of it behind to regrow later. She had to strike, decisively, thourougly and it had to be nothing less than an all out offensive. She would burn away every last trace of that demon, its influence, and the blood magic it used as a conduit to gain access to her channels. The demon was an invading force set on taking over the territory of her soul, and now that she was aware of the threat, Merrill had no intention of relinquishing her kingdom to the usurper. She would marshall all of the forces at her command and meet it on the field of her inner soulscape.

It was time to go to war.


	6. Chapter 6

As far as balanced parties went he supposed he couldn't compain overly much about being placed with Varric and Hawke with a mage for support, though if he were going off the beaten path he'd rather have the healer along instead of relying on potions to cover the damage. Potions were finite, and expensive. Whatever else he said about the abomination, even Fenris could not deny that the man did a fine job of tending to their injuries.

_:It would be better still if we had no mages involved,:_ he thought to himself.

He'd made the suggestion, and more than once, but Hawke never listened. He always insisted on bringing at least one of the troublesome nuisances along. It often annoyed Fenris that the creatures were so bloody useful! When it came to weakening an attacking party wholesale so that they could be picked off easily, the female mage was without equal, not even by the abomination. She could take hordes of lesser fighters out with a single casting, bolts of energy lancing down from the sky... and down they went, twitching. Sometimes he found it both gruesome and amusing. And she could chain magic and keep them coming, though she was always weaker at the end, and required rest, still, in the heat of battle her ability to chain spells in a seeming endless supply at the cost of a little of her physical endurance could be a game-changer. She couldn't heal, but when the battles were short she generally didn't need to. The witch's magic was strong, even he had to admit that.

_:Unfortunately that extra strength comes from the use of blood magic,:_ he thought.

She was so adamant about it not being dangerous if handled with proper care and precautions. Fenris knew better, and it just made him _cringe_ everytime she insisted that she had everything under control. The abomination echoed the sentiment, and that was saying something.

_:One would think that if a man possessed by a demon from the Fade said "don't do this" a sensible person would listen! One would also think that the silly chit would listen to her teacher as well... but noooo.:_

There were days he just wanted to hit her over the head with something. _Hard_. Or shake her until her teeth rattled. Or lock her up in a room made of sap-stone that would suppress her magic until she promised to give up her foolishness and go home.

He'd been asked to nip down to the alienage and fetch the witch so that they could be on thier way. The dwarf had a few last minute merchant matters to handle and would be tied up until later that morning. Hawke was up in hightown, humoring his mother about her matchmaking schemes and wouldn't be back down the hill until later that day, leaving Fenris as the gopher for the afternoon.

_:Still, it does settle the debt I owe for the last game of Wicked Grace...:_ Fenris shrugged to himself.

Hunting bandits and killing slavers was all fine and good, but he did like to take home his fair share of the kiddy. Despite the losses at gambling, he had a fair-sized nestegg put away for when he eventually had to go back on the run. Being a fugitive was much easier with ready money to buy silence with.

He rounded the corner and took the steps leading down to the hex with the tree where the elves made thier home. He was a city elf himself, but even he had to admit that seeing the spreading canopy of green made some deep part of himself feel contented. Maybe it was some kind of elvhen race memory or something that made him feel so at home around nature, despite the fact he was more comfortable in urban surroundings where he knew what to expect.

As he drew nearer to the little hovel where Merril lived, he heard what sounded like the sounds of a fight or struggle through the wood of the door. He might not always get along with the little twit but she was still his battle comrade and it was understood that he would aid and defend her, for he knew she would do the same for him. He drew his longblade and kicked in the door, ready to face whatever enemy was on the other side; Templars, demons, abominations...

What he found was dust-bunnies. Or dust-dragons perhaps. Fenris stared for a long moment, stock still, speechless in shock.

"Och! Fenris! Yeh gave a start yeh did!" Merrill exclaimed as if there were absolutely nothing unusual about her activities, as though what she was doing did not fly in the face of everything she had said and done since the day they'd met.

He continued to stare, not quite believing his eyes.

"I'm glad you're here, actually," she added on hurriedly. "Do you think you could do me a favor? I know I'm asking a lot lately but I'll owe you for this one, I truly will."

She was pulling her precious books on blood magic down from her shelves, flipping through them, tearing out a few pages here and there, then tossing the rest of it into the center of the room. In the middle of the room was a large pile of... magey things. Bottles of arcane liquids, embers and fluids taken from demons and abominations they'd fought, broken pieces of staffs, piles of books and scrolls that seeped out tainted energies, athames and pins and bowls and other paraphernalia used in blood magic were all piled in the center of the room surrounded by a large circle drawn in chalk and dusted with some silvery substance. The inner circle was surrounded by another circle and between the rings was an intricate knotwork interwoven with arcane symbols chalked carefully onto the floor. The walls of the house, he also noted, had similar glyphs and circles chalked onto them, even the ceiling featured some sort of arcanic-looking elvish drawing.

"Would you mind, awfully much, using that sword of yours on that tablet over there?"

Merrill pointed to a smooth, flat white stone tablet on which rested partially pieced-together shards of glass. It was the spelled surface she used to help her piece together her mirror. The back of the tablet was covered in runes and sigils that Fenris recognized from some of his former masters work. More blood magic stuff.

"You... want me to destroy it?" he said, uncertain he'd heard her right.

"If you don't mind," she said cheerfully, as she bustled about snatching up books and other arcane objects and tossing them into the growing pile in the center of the room. "I'd do it myself, but I can't seem to physically snap it in half, and it's resistant to magic. Part of it's nature, y'know. You seem strong enough to do the task."

She examined the edge of a particularly wicked-looking athame and with a slightly nostalgic shrug, chucked it over her shoulder. A big book of forbidden lore joined it a moment later on the pile.

"What are you doing?" he felt compelled to demand.

"What does it look like?" she said, staring at him as though he'd gone daft. "I'm destroying all of my blood magic things. No point in keeping them around if I'm giving it up, they're dangerous doncha know. The wrong sort of mage might get hold of them and then we'd have another pesky task on our hands. Best to make a clean sweep of it."

Fenris stared.

_:Is the sky falling?:_ he wondered. _:Did the world turn upside down while I slept?:_

Never, not once, not _ever_ had he heard of a mage who willingly gave up the additional power of blood magic once they'd gotten a taste of it.

_:And judging by the objects and books she's got here, I'd say she has had __**more**__ than a taste,:_ he scowled, looking around him.

"Are you serious?" he felt he had to ask.

"Yes," was all she said.

"What brought this on, all of a sudden?" he asked next, still unable to believe his eyes.

"Don't try to talk me out of it Fenris, I'm quite resolved," she replied. He caught the slight upturn of her lips that said she might be having a little fun with this.

"I wouldn't dream of stopping you when you've just finally come to your senses, I just want to know... Was it the wine or something?"

If that was the case, it seemed he owed Isabella an enormous favor. He moved quickly to the side of the room she'd indicated where her strange magical tablet rested and pulled out his longblade. If she was finally taking steps to do the sensible thing at last, he'd help her get as much done as possible in hopes that when she did backslide, working that cursed magic would be much more difficult for her.

"No... not the wine," Merrill said, sounding a bit uncomfortable.

Fenris activated his tattoos to bolster his strength and took a good, strong downward swing at the tablet. Just before he reached the surface of the object, it flared with a red-black aura and it felt like the edge of his blade hit thickened jelly. Much of what would have been the impact was absorbed by the aura surrounding the cursed thing and Fenris was irritated to note that he only took a small chip out of it.

"Then what?" he asked curiously. "I really want to know what finally got through to you and made you listen to everything I, and the abomination, and your teacher, and everyone else have all been trying to tell you all this time."

If his tone was more than a little smug, Fenris felt he'd earned it. Merrill, of course, caught the undertone of almost gleeful self-satisfaction from him, and glared at him irritatedly. He very nearly smiled right back at her. As it was, a smirk escaped him. Merrill looked down and away, blushing in embarrassment.

_:Oh-__**ho**__...:_ he thought, a smug elation welled up in him at the realization that she had realized that _he_ was _right_ and _she_ was _wrong_.

"It was the mirror, wasn't it," he said hard on the heels of his first question. "You finally opened your eyes and sensed the rot coming out of that thing."

"Och!" she said, her face flaming in embarrassment. "Yes, curse it! There, happy?"

"Well... yes. I suppose. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to hear you say 'yes, Fenris, you were right and I was wrong all this time. You're so much wiser and more observant than me. And better looking."

"Better looking?" she frowned at him.

"Just thought I'd throw that in there," he said.

He took another swing and made a little more progress this time. Encouraged, he took a few more swings, they took out increasingly large chunks as the defensive magics on the tablet fell to his blade. This was sort of fun, actually. He'd always liked having free reign to destroy artifacts of dark magic. Fenris had never seen a candy store or seen what a child's reaction to it was, but if he had he would have been able to empathize.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" she demanded resignedly, tossing more books onto the pile.

"It's going to be even better than the dragon story," he assured her, taking another swing.

"There's no talking to you."

"Please can we go? I've never seen a huge dragon before!" he mimicked.

Merrill frowned over at him.

"I regret asking you already. I should have gone out to get..." she stalled, watching him lay into the tablet full force and still making not much damage. "Well I suppose Varric or Sebastion would be out, since those arrows probably wouldn't do much damage. Hawke and Isabella both specialize in weapons that don't require a whole lot of _brute_ strength."

Fenris wasn't sure if she was subtly insulting him or merely stating a fact with the brute strength comment so he let it slide.

"I should have called on Anders instead!" she said brightly.

The smile that played at the edge of her mouth as she invoked the name of his archrival told him that she did it on purpose. Provoking mage.

Fenris scowled at her for the insult, a dark spear of something that felt almost akin to jealousy at the mention of her finding some other man superior to him for _any_ reason (and particularly for the strength of which he was justly proud). He told himself that the pang was insult and a dislike of the idea of anyone else getting to have the fun of destroying all of Merrill's dark magic junk rather than dislike of her proffering another to him for any reason at all.

"He's still a mage," he pointed out. "And you said yourself that this thing is resistant to magic. It is also resistant to being split by ordinary means as well. Anders would be less useful in the situation that I am simply because I am stronger than he is."

"Anders looks like he would be plenty strong, under those feathers," Merrill seemed obliged to argue with him.

"Humph!" he grunted, landing a particularly emphatic swing. He sensed the spell give way the final bit and decided to use it as an object lesson.

"I doubt he'd manage this," was all Fenris said as he adjusted his grip raised his sword with a small flourish, pushed out with the power of his markings and cleaved the troublesome artifact neatly in half.

"He doesn't have a sword," Merrill said in as close to agreement as he was likely to get from her. Still, some small part of him puffed up at the victory. She took the two halves and tossed them onto the pile as well then went back to weeding through her shelves, hunting out books of blood magic.

Fenris used books as paperweights, and to prop open windows and doors when it got hot, and as trays to hold his food and drink on when he didn't have a table clear. As a former slave, Fenris could not read, and was (admittedly) too proud to ask for help in learning how. Merrill was different. She horded books like a dragon horded treasure. The shelves of her little private library were full of books, with more of them overflowing onto the floor, tables, bed and anywhere else she might fit them. Judging by the fact that the majority of them were passed by without a second glance as Merrill continued her vigorous cleaning of all things blood magic related, not all of the volumes were full of forbidden lore and dangerous arcane spells. The woman clearly just loved books.

"Pariah Bride. Tevinter's Kiss, Pirate's Plunder..." I wonder where Varric gets the inspiration for these stories," Merrill mused aloud. "They're so good, and romantic too."

"What are they about?" he asked curiously as he held up a suspicious looking tome and Merrill nodded toward the pile. He tossed it, with pleasure.

"Oh, Pariah Bride is about a Dalish Elf who is tricked by a demon into forsaking her people and runs away to the city where she meets a handsome noble rogue who had fled the Blight in Ferelden and to reclaim his family's title in the new land. The nobility protests his desire to marry and elf, and his family tries to arrange a marriage with some other nobleman's daughter, but they persevere. It's so romantic, though there aren't any good sword fights like in Tevinter's Kiss. That one's full of excitement!"

"I'm almost afraid to ask what Tevinter's Kiss is about," he muttered darkly.

_:Damned dwarf has been using me as fodder for his stories I'll bet!:_

Merrill opened her mouth to give an account of the book when he cut her off.

"Don't tell me, let me guess. It's about an escaped slave from the Tevinter Imperium," he said dryly.

"A gladiator actually," Merrill said, her expressive eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's the strongest fighter in the whole Imperium, undefeated in all of his matches."

_:Maybe it's not so bad after all,:_ Fenris thought, feeling just a mite more charitable.

"If you want, I'll read it to you sometime," she offered, looking hopeful.

Him? Read a... what did Hawke call them, oh yes, _bodice rippers_. Not very likely, even if the character was based loosely off him. By the looks of the brawny man with the huge sword (and the boxom lass halfway out of her clothes) it was based _very_ loosely off him. He opened his mouth to deliver his usual cutting refusal but abruptly thought better of it. Merrill was being her usual kind and helpful self, looking for ways to create a commonality between them, give them both common ground to grow a fellowship on... she was _also_ letting him help her destroy all of her black magic articles, which spoke of a lot of trust. He would be churlish in the extreme of he was his usual abrasive self with her.

_:Good behavior should be rewarded,:_ he reminded himself.

He settled for a more diplomatic answer instead.

"A generous offer, but I doubt it would interest me much. I fear I'm no romantic."

"You don't know what you're miss-ing," she sing-songed as though to entice him into changing his mind.

"I'm sure I'll survive the loss," he assured her riffling through another shelf and holding up two scrolls. Merrill pointed to the left hand one, which he tossed.

There was a cubby hole toward the back of her house that had no discernible purpose to it, Merrill had stashed a crate with some candles and a large book on it. She walked back and pulled out he crate, tossing the book on the pile and then went back to the nook. Fenris sensed her drawing power from the Fade by a subtle pressure in the air, and the bare stone of the floor turned over on a pivot, revealing a hole in which a heavy chest that was not just made of ironwood but was bound on all sides and at all corners with steel and held several locks was buried. Merrill drew more power from the fade, stamped her lead foot and pushed up with her hands and the hole smoothed out, popping the chest up onto the floor.

"Would you give me a hand with this, please?" Merrill said.

"What is it?" he asked, morbidly curious in spite of himself.

"Do you remember earlier this year when Hawke was requested to destroy those tomes of forbidden magic?" Merrill asked as she began shoving the chest toward the pile she was collecting.

Fenris picked up one of the rings on one side of the chest and was surprised by how very heavy it was. Merrill took the other and between the two of them they barely managed to pick it up.

"Yes, I was with her when they were destroyed."

"They were not the only ones, nor were they the worst ones," she admitted. "I have made certain associates among the dealers in certain texts. I had thought I made it very clear that I was only interested in information having to do with elvhen history or mirrors, but some dealers see only the staff. It was tips from them that led me to discovering various books of a magic so foul, so... _depraved_ that even to look at it made me sick to my stomach. I couldn't bring myself to read it and this was one of the only times when I decided there was nothing to be _remotely_ curious about. I won't touch it with a barge pole and neither will I allow it to fall into anyone else's hands. I immediately destroyed any copies I found, but the originals had such powerful protections on them that I could not destroy them. I made this box to leech some of the taint out of these books over time. Hopefully this would weaken the spells enough for me to destroy them properly. Now seems a good time to try it, I plan to unleash the tehn'shii ritual on this rubbish."

"What is the tehn'shii ritual?" Fenris asked.

"It translates to "starfire" in the common tongue," Merrill said. "It is one of the very strongest spells in the arsenal of a Keeper. I'm not supposed to even know it yet... but I've always been a bit precocious. It is both a spell and a ritual for purification. The spell destroys the taint of evil and of blood magic by flooding it with raw power, burning away everything."

"So the circles in the floor are...?" he questioned as he helped her deposit the crowning piece of her creepy collection into the center of the pile.

"Part of the spell," she confirmed. "And a way to keep the massive raw energy of it from leaking out and possibly harming anyone on the outside. It is partly a containment circle and partly a calling circle."

"Sounds... dangerous. Have you performed this magic before?"

"Not exactly," she said hesitantly. 'I'm familiar enough with the basics and the theory behind it, but I've never actually performed the ritual."

"Shouldn't we get your Keeper then?" he asked.

"Keeper Marethari has never performed the ritual either," Merrill replied honestly.

Fenris stared, getting that same sinking feeling he always got when Merrill inadvertently dragged them all in for much more trouble than they bargained for. Dragons came brilliantly to mind.

"You want to perform a top-level spell that you only have a theoretical knowledge of, one that has not even been performed by your teacher, here in the middle of the alienage in a city crawling with Templars, who, I should add, are already on edge about mages in general."

"Oh, good point," Merrill said with a vigorous nod. "I'll just draw the shutters then, shall I? Can't have any mysterious lights leaking out."

"That's not really the problem here," he replied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well it has to be here, Fenris," Merrill replied as if it should be obvious to a child. "The tehn'shii is for cleansing magical corruption and this place is thick with it. Aside of destroying articles for blood magic, I have to clean up the mess I've made. That's my responsibility. It would be even if I hadn't been trained as First of Sabrae Clan. I obviously can't just leave it hanging about, that sort of thing attracts more of the same and these City Elves have enough to worry about without adding in dark magic."

"That is... surprisingly mature," he said, trying not to come out and say how astounded he was that she'd said and done two sensible things in under as many hours.

She used her staff to knock out the two wooden supports for the interior shutters for the windows that were placed high up in the wall above her fireplace and they came down with a wooden clack against the sandy stone of the wall. Another nudge maneuvered the closing pegs in place (so that they did not bang about in the wind when there was a storm). The room abruptly dimmed even further once the sunlight was gone.

"You might want to clear out," Merrill said, a firmer, more confident edge to her tone.

He was just getting all kinds of surprises today. Normally Merrill was a chit who was characterized by her lack of confidence; either in herself or in her lack of experience with the world outside of her Clan. Even Fenris had to admit that the one area in which she had never shown any lack of confidence was in her magic.

"I'm not sure whether or not this magic will have any effect on your vala'sl- um, your lyrium markings," she continued. "All I can say about it is that it will be very powerful, so brace yourself if you're staying."

"With all of these dangerous objects gathered in one place, if your ancient ritual doesn't work there's the chance that casting powerful magic will attract the wrong kind of attention. If this spell somehow goes wrong and you are harmed, the surrounding people will need someone to handle anything that might come crawling out of the Fade."

Fenris drew his greatsword and took up a sentinel position nearby, waiting.

"I'm ready whenever you are," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Merrill took a deep breath and closed her eyes, reaching for the deep pool of calm within herself, that special place inside her mind and soul that felt of fire and water and wind and earth. She'd found that most people who were not mages thought that mages just drew on the power of the Fade like it was a thing, as dead as stone and just as utilitarian. They thought pulling power from the Fade was like pouring a glass of water. To Merrill and to other mages, using magic was an intimate process.

Those who were not mages thought that mana was like a reservoir within them that just held power the same way a cup held water. The truth was quite different. The raw magic of the Fade was part of everything, as inseparable from the wide world as the soul was inseparable from the body. Most ordinary folk were only actively a part of the Fade when they dreamed, and even then their ability to be one with the true nature of the universal energy was very limited. A mage was able to perceive more of that energy, like an extra sense, and their bodies were able to accept more of it into them. Rather... their spirits were attuned to it to a greater extent. Like a tuning fork next to a harp-string, mages resonated with the raw magic of the Fade and thier ability to resonate with it channeled power from it. So mana was not so much a "reservoir" as it was a measurement of a mages ability to channel magic from the Fade through thier bodies and bring it into the physical world. Their oneness with the wild magic of the Fade enabled them to work their will upon the nature of the reality around them.

Merrill mentally shook her head at herself as she noted the terrible state of her channels and of the resonance pool within her. Her channels were clogged thick on all sides with dark energies, looking less like the rivers of pure flowing energies she was accustomed to, and more like a Darktown sewer. They were filled with "sludge" and the energies of magic flowed sluggishly. The pool within her was also choked with foul energy, spiraling slowly and with a great many conflicting currents within it instead of the neat, clean swirl that Merrill had been accustomed to.

_:When was the last time I did a thorough cleaning in here?!:_ she wondered in dismay. _:Look at this mess! It's...:_

Oh it was _much_ worse than she'd thought. She could feel the tendrils of demon-taint wrapping themselves in and around her channels like the vines of a strangler fig growing into the cracks and crevices of its host tree, intent of sapping and eventually supplanting its host. She was in danger, grave danger, and if she had continued it would have been far, far worse.

_:Be that as it may, I'm here now,:_ she told herself. _:It's time to get to work.:_

Merrill seized the power through her prime meridian, the easiest and most direct access through to the Fade, and also the one with the lest amount of magical taint. The demon had been leaving that one alone and concentrating on sinking its magic into her lesser channels, the ones she didn't use as often, the ones she wouldn't be as likely to notice since she was skimping on her cleansing exercises. She pulled power into herself, resonating fully with the great song of the Fade and opening herself to the wild magic. The feeling of being open to the Fade was indescribable, her body throbbed as though she stood next to a great signal-drum and her soul flowed outwards around her as her awareness expanded. When she opened her eyes the physical world was washed out to a blurry grey of lesser importance while the fade-overlay was painted in tiny motes of opalescent light, like stars with light-smear tails dancing in and out of everything, the stone, the air, the trees all were connected.

She drew in another breath taking in more energy from the Fade, resonating more in tune to it, then released her breath pushing out her own spiritual power, boosted by the energy she'd taken in and made her own into the air around her. It surrounded her physical shell in a halo of swirling colored light. The motes of energy nearby began to resonate in time to her own, her will subsuming them. Merrill took another breath, taking in more raw energy directly from the Fade and subsuming that energy to her will, then pushing it out into the world around her. The fabric of reality began to shift ever so slightly as her aura surrounded more of the drifting motes that were woven into every facet of the physical world.

It was not a fact that mages went out of their way to advertize, but the staffs that so characterized their power were really nothing more than convenient tools and not the absolute necessities that everyone seemed to think. It was easier to focus magic within their tips as it gave the casting mage a single point of focus on, rather like a glass magnifying lens could focus in sunlight on a single burning point. It was also easier to use a staff since the tip of it was farther away from their bodies and thus safer and easier to focus on. A talented mage could, with practice and concentration, focus power on their hands, though working magic that close to ones body and within the field of ones aura was considered generally inadvisable unless one _really_ knew what they were doing.

_:The Ancient Elves didn't use tools for magic,:_ Merrill reminded herself.

For the Ancients, magic was as much a part of them as their ability to breathe. Their bodies and spirits were never truly out of tune with the Fade, it was said. Keeper Marethari had taught her some few of the ancient tricks, a series of forms, physical movements that when combined with the correct breathing and concentration stoked the fires of magic within and increased ones ability to draw from the Fade. The movements smoothed and stimulated the energies within to enable a mage to maximize the amount of power they could bend to their will.

_:What is that phrase Hawke uses? Ah... kicking it old school.:_

She sank her weight into the starting position her center of gravity lowered, and started the slow, sweeping opening movements to the form, called in ancient elvhen the reeling silk energy. It was a pattern of graceful push-pull actions in which movement originated and flowed back into the dan'tien. Energy up from the ground, spiraling through her channels (not as smoothly as she was accustomed to!) flowing through her central pool out through the gentle circling movements of her hands as though she were reeling a large, delicate strand of silk onto them, then pushing back out into the world around her. The stronger her spiritual density became as she added more raw power from the fade, the more the natural magic of the surrounding world was attracted to it, the more she subsumed to her will. She settled the energy she had gathered and the work began in earnest.

The pattern she had chalked onto the floor and dusted in a powder of lyrium she had collected from some of the deposits that she had found on her adventures with Hawke were designed to bolster her spell. The movements of the form were direct physical echoes of the patterns of the spell so it was written in both the physical world and enacted in the magical world. When she used her body to connect the twin realities during the spell it would temporarily build a contained bridge between them, like a controlled channel with her body as the conduit. The tricky part would come when she had to step within the spell.

_:The only way to close the spell and seal the tear is to bring the collected power back into itself, then ground and center it,:_ she reminded herself, steeling herself for the dangerous and very very _painful_ part of the ritual that was yet to come. _:It's also the only way to clean my channels quickly a decisively before that demon has a chance to try to wield its influence and make it a real struggle for dominance. I don't have time to waste on picking a fight with it when the true battle will be yet to come.:_

She moved in the flowing graceful patterns, forcing her thoughts to remain absolutely focused and her spirit as calm as a tranquil pond. There was no room for fear or second-guessing, she must _become_ the magic, become the spell, and not loose herself. Anything less than complete commitment and complete confidence was to loose, and that was unthinkable. She felt the air around her grow thick and heavy as the power she gathered accreted into a great cloud surrounding her. She wasn't sure if ordinary folk like Fenris or Hawke could see it, but to Merrill it looked as though she were surrounded by brilliant sparks of white light that had long tails of ever-shifting misty fire trailing out behind them like silk being moved in water and they flowed around her, mimicking the patterns of the movements, dancing in slow time to the movements of her form. She shaped them, she willed them, and they were one.

First Form; sun rises softly, sings the wind, flowering lily, rain on the pond, straight sword, dragonfly flies from the surface of the water, mist swirls deftly, sun sets softly. Second Form; sun rises softly, flowing river bends the reed, snake strikes palm out, snake strikes palm in, storm wind rages down, monkey delivers fruit, tall tree sways in the breeze, sun sets softly.

The First and Second forms set the patterns that the energy was to flow through using her body as the conduit. The true pivot of the spell however was the single pattern within the gap between the Second and Third Forms. That was the point during which the caster threw wide the gates inside their own body and took in the greatest amount of energy they possibly could acting as a conduit and letting the pure, raw magic of the Fade into the world pushing it into the pattern already inscribed. The lyrium on the floor took much of the brunt of it, the flowing patterns of energy the caster wove took the rest (theoretically anyway) and the spell was completed by the Third and Fourth Forms, which were nothing more than repetitions of the First and Second Forms, except that the caster was using their own body as the focus, directing the raw magic loosed into the circle.

No room for doubt, no thought for the next moment, all that existed was this. Merrill straightened then sank her weight, resting her palms together on her breast, her eyes closed in gentle serenity, she reached within, unlocking that place inside herself where Self and Fade were kept subtly separate, then throwing open wide the sluice gate and letting the torrent of magic rush through her.

Her channels burned with a cold so intense it was like fire. Raw power rushed through her with the wild torrent of a river in spring flood, just as powerful and just as uncontrolled. Her channels tried to snap and break away but Merrill gritted her teeth and hung on with an iron control, willing the power into the patterns she had inscribed in will and lyrium. She felt her spirit expand and expand until her skin was stretched tight. A shell of flesh was never meant to contain such power and it pushed, demanding more than she had to give. She clamped down on it, pushing back, forcing it to obey her command. It was eternity in an instant when Merrill judged she'd reached the limit of what her fragile shell could endure and fought the doorway within in her closed by inches. The raw magic fought her, but she was mistress within her circle, and she would not loose to it. The force was beaten back, narrowing to a channel then a stream, then a trickle and at last she shut and locked the gate, sealing away the raw Fade.

The raw magic of the Fade hung in the air about her, turning it thick and heavy, like a palpable wight pressing in on her body. Her limbs felt made of lead but she forced herself to begin the Third Form. Every single movement was a struggle, for the wild magic did not wish to flow obediently into the channels she had prepared for it. It struggled and kicked like a wild thing, demanding to be free, trying to force its way out, but Merrill gathered it to her and held it, though her body ached and burned, though she felt weary to the marrow of her bones.

The Third Form finished, the Fourth swiftly followed suit as she fought the very air around her for one more breath, one more movement, gravity weighing in and crushing her. At the final Sun Sets Softly there was no time to savor her victory. The magic that she had woven with her will and her body along the complex, flowing knotwork lines she'd worked into the floor lifted up into the air, spiraling about her in flowing knotworks lines and patterns of light. The power then gathered inward into a single point directly above the center of the inner circle. It looked like the very light of the heavens opened up, shining through in a beautiful glow. A nimbus of misty fire gathered in a cicle around the cloud and then... a torrent of white lightning struck, a pillar of light crashing down not in the crackling streaks of lightning but in a brilliant torrent like a raging river in flood. Starfire. The earth thumped and thrummed where it hit and a cold-hot wind rushed out. The patterns inscribed on the walls and floors and ceiling flared white and all was bathed in fiery luminance.

Now came the truly difficult part. Merrill bowed her head and said a quick prayer to Mythal to preserve her then faced forward and stepped over the line and into the fire.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris had a deeply rooted fear and distrust of magic. So far as he was concerned it was all arcane witchy stuff beyond any mere mortal's true ability to control or understand. He thought that mages were all mad fools for thinking they could possibly truly control it, for when push came to shove they were all mortal and fallible; subject to be ruled by their fears, their desperation, their rage, their weaknesses. In an ordinary person such dangers were bad enough, Captain Aveline filled out paperwork by the barrel-full about "crimes of passion," where a perfectly ordinary man or woman was triggered by great emotion or duress into acts of violence and aggression wielding perfectly ordinary weapons. A mage was much more dangerous. Not only were the subject to their own emotions and weaknesses, but they were tempted by the powerful eldrich creatures of the Fade when their minds were vulnerable. How could any person withstand such temptation? They couldn't, no matter what the abomination thought on the matter. No, magic was a danger to the mage and everyone surrounding that person.

It was with a deep feeling of trepidation that he watched the blood witch step toward her circle and readied himself for what was to come. Perhaps he'd never wanted them, and they had been carved into his flesh in a process so agonizing that he suspected it had actually turned his hair white (because his eyebrows were black), _and_ they continued to draw the bounty hunters of his former master down upon him, but he could not say that his lyrium markings were completely without advantage.

The lyrium markings were a tremendous boon in the arena of combat for instance; they not only allowed him to phase about the battlefield to be where he was needed, they helped him to shrug off the damage from enemy blows and reach inside a persons skin and remove their still beating hearts from their bodies. He liked to use that last one on any slavers he came into contact with, and hoped to one day be in a position to use it on his former master. One of the more useful aspects of his lyrium markings was the added resistance it gave him to magic. He closed his eyes and attuned himself with his markings feeling the hum along his skin intensify and thrum a little through his bones, boosting magic resistance. They glowed ever so slightly and he could feel the icy fire hum through him, a subtle vibration beneath his skin. It wasn't exactly a comfortable sensation, but he'd learned to live with it.

_:I've never seen any magic performed like __**that**__, however,:_ Fenris thought a moment later as he watched the mage prepare her spell.

The blood mage had foregone her staff for one thing. In all the times that Fenris had guarded his former master while he had worked his spells, the area had been littered with the paraphernalia of magic; books and bottles of Maker only knew what, bowls for the catching of blood, scarifies to be made... but _always_ near to hand, his masters staff. He was never without it, particularly when there was casting to be done. Staff were how mages cast spells! It was what gave their magic power and focus, a mage without a staff was weaker.

_:Why is she casting a spell she claims is incredibly powerful without her staff?:_ he wondered as his feeling of disquiet grew. _:Has she lost her mind, doesn't she know it's dangerous? I know nothing of magic but even I know that a mage needs a staff to focus their magic on, otherwise its like trying to gather the wind in a fishing net.:_

He was very much tempted to call the whole thing off and go and get the abomination to help out with the mess. Surely between the group of them they could dispose of the blood magic pile in the center of the room. Fenris had a hard enough time putting up with magic he sort of understood, or at least was somewhat familiar with, this didn't look like _anything_ he had ever seen before and it made him nervous.

The witch, instead of just waving her hand and firing off a spell like she usually did, started what looked like a strange sort of dance. The movements were all very graceful and flowing, the warrior in him was able to appreciate the perfect balance and lack of wasted motions. He couldn't see the movements of magic like he had heard that those who were born with magical ability could, but he could sense a sort of tightening in the air that made his ears pop. The pressure was subtle, but his lyrium markings reacted to it, the buzz of resonance increased as they protected him from the energies being gathered. The circle at the outside was already starting to glow softly, just as his own lyrium markings were. The pressure built up as the witch made one full circuit of the pattern chalked onto her floor, performing her strange dance-like movements the whole way. He knew that had to mean _something_, but he had no clue as to what, all he could do was watch carefully, wary for any sudden trouble. She made another rotation around the circle, her movements were different but he could sense the steady build up of power, so much that there was a distinct hum in the air and his lyrium markings went from an uncomfortable itch to a slow burn. He gripped his sword.

_:Why is she stopping? Is it over with already?:_ he wondered as he watched her pause and perform some kind of intricate motion with her hands, which ended in what looked like a prayer.

He was knocked back off his feet when the girl, for all that he could tell, ripped open the Fade! he wasn't the focus of them, but it didn't take his lyrium markings for him to be able to feel the flood of magical energy suddenly being unleashed within the room. Whorls and smears of brilliant white light darted and swirled around each other, gathering into streams of power, flowing along the pattern chalked into the floor. The lyrium markings on his skin burned as the raw power of the Fade rushed into the room, it was contained but he could still feel it as pressure on him, like the air itself suddenly decided to gain weight.

_:Bloody stupid, overconfident mage...:_ he cursed. _:If we live through this I'm going to strangle the little chit!:_

How many more times was he going to have to remind himself not to get involved with mages? It just led straight to trouble!

And of course the damn spell wasn't over with, oh no. The girl got on with the second half of the working, her movements mirror copy of the ones she'd just performed, though it was perfectly clear to him that she was struggling to move at all. Fenris himself was drenched in sweat as he struggled to get to his feet the air around him pressing in and making it hard to breathe let alone move. The sourceless wind of a tempest whipping about the room and knocking into him, forcing him to grip his sword to maintain his balance wasn't helping any either.

_:Oh Great Maker!:_ he thought, rolling his eyes. _:She's torn the Veil wide open!:_

That was all he could think might have happened. He wasn'g given much time to contemplate or theorize about it however as a pure, heavenly white light began to glow softly from above, a beautiful hum like a strange chorus of song jangled along his bones as his lyruim buzzed in resonance accompanying it. The light didn't stay pretty and harmless, of _course_ it didn't! A nimbus misty white fire swirled in a circle, echoing the patterns on the floor and then... oh _then_.

Like lighting crashing to earth only multiplied by a thousand. A pillar of pure, raw power descended with all of the might of an avalanche roaring down a mountainside and when it hit the ground there was a soundless explosion. Fenris was knocked backwards, this time not just off his feet, but blown clear across the room to hit the stone wall opposite. His head was reeling and his lyrium marks burned, and the first thing he saw when he could focus his eyes again was the crazed blood witch, walking _into_ the heart of the pillar of white fire.

Fenris couldn't explain what happened next, because... he was somehow certain that it wasn't happening to _him_! A myriad of sensations overtook him but the source of them was a mystery. It felt like he was standing underneath a waterfall, a torrent of punishing force dropping down on him endlessly, beating on his skin without relent. He _burned_! It felt as though he had swallowed liquid lightning and it was trying to burn its ay through him from the inside out, immolating everything in a fire wave so intense that it made the procedure that had given him his lyrium markings feel like a mild sting in comparison. His chest tightened and it became harder to breathe. It felt like someone had dropped a mountain on him, and every part of him felt as though it were on fire. The pain was sourceless, inexplicable and so very, very agonizing. His skin felt stretched thin as though he would burst out from inside of himself. It felt like he was fighting a battle against a raging flood on the outside and to keep from burning up on the inside.

In a strange burst of clarity he somehow _knew_ from deep within himself that the sensations he was feeling were not his own... they belonged to the witch who was currently immolating herself on some magical pyre. She had opened her magical channels to bear the full brunt of the magic coursing from the Fade and was currently playing some insane mage-game of magical "chicken." The point of which was to see how long she could bear the full force of the arcane energies rushing through her like a flood before she was burned up from within. The longer she held out, the greater the cleansing of the fire, but also, the greater risk she took at burning herself out.

_:Crazy, stubborn creature!:_ he growled an internal curse. _:If we live through this I swear I'm going to lock her in a room where she can't use her magic!:_

It was a strange sort of resonance he had with her, as though he were watching in a dream. He knew things that he shouldn't have known about her, about what she was doing, with the same sort of awareness that came during a dream where even the strangest and most disconnected things took on an odd clarity and significance. He _knew_ that part of the purpose in her casting the spell was not just to cleanse the area of taint, but also to purify herself of the darker magic that the demon she'd made a bargain with had been slowly and insidiously slipping into her bit by tiny bit. He _knew_ that she planned to wage war, and that this was the opening battle and one of the most important and that she didn't intend to loose. He shouldn't have been able to know these, but he did, and he also knew that she had a some minor worry having to do with him, and having to do with her, but that she didn't consider it a great concern at the moment.

_:I consider it a great concern!:_ Fenris thought irritably._ :Damned mages and their damned secrets. Especially this one!:_

If she was keeping something from him, he'd wring it out of her... provided she lived through her foolishness.

_:Who in their right mind thinks that using some ancient, theoretical magic spell to rip open a hole in the Veil just to burn away taint is a good idea? That's like using a lightning bolt to light a candle!:_

She'd never been very long on common sense, but there should be limits to how naive one was allowed to be. That silly mage-twit needed constant supervision to keep her from doing something stupid.

Merrill, apparently either having regained her senses, or just unable to take any more of the agony of immolation, made one final gesture, somehow ending the spell and cutting off the power rushing in from the fade the way the gate-keeper of a dam slammed shut the sluice gate, cutting off the water. Fenris was already on the ground, twitching a little, his lyrium markings aching like they hadn't since they'd been burned into his skin. The damnable woman dropped to her knees like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he knew she was still alive but he didn't know how badly the magic she'd unleashed had hurt her. Fenris speared the tip of his sword into the dusty floor of her room and pushed up, his muscles fighting against the exhaustion resultant from his recent ordeal. He managed to raise his head, and then his torso, then after what felt like a monumental struggle, rose to one knee.

The mage let out a pain-filled whimper and turned her head to look over at him.

"Are you alright Fenris?" she asked in concern.

"We will have words on this, witch," he promised her grimly.

"What kind of words?" she asked curiously, as though she couldn't imagine what he might have to say on the matter.

"Strong ones," he replied.

His body was shaking from fatigue so he just knelt there, panting. He could hear the silly witch doing the same from across the room.

"Well," she said in a more normal tone. "That was exciting, wasn't it?"

Fenris glared at her from across the room and struggled all the way up to his feet, a sudden spurt of temper giving him new strength. If he'd had more energy, he would have stomped across the room, as it was he placed his feet firmly and stepped over the circle. All of the magical items that they had piled up, including the box of ironwood and its contents, had been utterly incinerated. There wasn't even any ash left, it was just a blackened spot of glass in the stone floor. Fenris growled as the implication of what that stupid girl had just walked her little self into occurred to him. She could have gotten her fool self _killed_, then he'd have to explain to Hawke and Varric and Isabella how he'd just let her do it.

He was saved from having to hold himself back from wringing her neck by a knock on the door. Merrill pulled herself to her feet, mostly still leaning her weight on a staff, and opened it a crack.

_:It'd serve her right if it were Templars, attracted by the feeling of serious magic being cast,:_ he grumbled to himself.

As satisfying as he might find the thought of the silly mage being saved from her own stupidity, Fenris already knew he'd be bound to help her fight off any who would take her against her will. She had already done the same for him on numerous occasions and he knew she intended to go on doing so for however long their association lasted, as such, he was honor-bound to do the same.

"Let me in," a familiar voice said from the other side.

Fenris had never thought he'd be glad to see the abomination, but the thought of having the Healer in to help them out was a surprisingly welcome one.

"Anders?" Merrill asked, slowly unbarring the door.

"Andraste's flaming farts, what was that?!" he demanded, pushing his way in as soon as the bar was clear.

"Oh, you felt that?" she asked, sounding like a child who was caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"I thought the whole damn city was going to pop over into the Fade then out the other side!"

Anders took in the dim interior, clearly with more senses than just the physical ones.

"Blessed saint Andraste on a polka-dot mule," he said incredulously. "This place is..." he shook his head, clearly unable to describe it.

"Cleansed," Merrill supplied.

"More than that," he corrected her. "It feels like hallowed ground. I've stepped into a few places that could hold off the taint of darkness. This is one of them now."

"At least for little while," Merrill corrected him. "It'll go back to normal in time."

"Whoever sleeps here won't have to worry about nightmares for a time," he said, with just a small note of wistfulness in his voice. Then his look turned sort of wryly amused as he added

"Justice approves."

"_I_ do not," Fenris growled, still working on getting to his feet.

Anders, to give the abomination credit, hurried over to him and began to perform a restoration spell. Fenris had to turn off his markings in order to receive the benefits of it but the feeling of heat seeping into his muscles and revitalizing him was a welcome one. It was a moment later that he could regain his feet, and once that was done his irritation reasserted itself.

"Witch!" he barked, turning to her, and sending her his best scowl. it was a little gratifying to see her wilt a bit and abortively try to back away. "You said that damned spell was for the clearing of taint!"

"It _is_," she insisted.

"Than explain to me why you felt it was necessary for you to go shower yourself in it. And while we are on the subject, why not discuss the effect it has had on my markings!"

Even without his being attuned to them or mentally enacting them, (in fact, Fenris was actively trying to suppress them!) the markings were lit up, his skin glowing like he'd swallowed the moon.

"I had no idea it'd do that to you," Merrill replied with some offended heat herself. "The spell is for cleansing taint. I used some lyrium to bolster my power that's all. I've never performed the tehn'shii ritual before, and certainly there was no addendum in the book for when a warrior with lyrium grafted into his skin is standing right nearby even though I cautioned him that maybe it might be a better idea for him not to be there at all."

"Are you saying that your crazed magic going haywire is my fault?" he demanded.

"First of all it did not go haywire, Fenris," Merrill corrected primly. "The spell worked exactly as it was meant to. The veil is sealed, and the area and my channels are both cleansed. Second in the matter it's not anyone's fault, there were simply more unknowns than usual, the tehn'shii ritual is not like firing off a lightning spell or casting rock armor. It's not something a mage can just wave a hand and poof! It's more complex than that."

"That doesn't explain why I..." Fenris cut himself off, embarrassed and unwilling to even speak out loud about the strange sense of connection he'd felt to her during the spell.

It had almost been like he knew what she was thinking and feeling at the time. As seriously as he took his independence, at the time it had been happening, the feeling on not being alone inside of himself had been... not entirely unpleasant. He wanted to cry witchcraft, and if she had been practicing blood magic he certainly would have, but he'd been with her from the beginning of the spell and he'd seen for himself that there was no blood involved in it. His lyrium markings could be sensitive to it when it was active so he knew she was clean.

"Look, I'm sorry your vala'sliin took damage from the side," Merrill said sincerely.

Then she brightened.

"Actually!" she said cheerfully as she darted over to one of her shelves and fished around. "I think I may have something that can help you with that."

She pulled out a small wooden chest stained emerald green with copper inlay in twining vine patterns that was sized at about fourteen inches long and eight inches wide and twelve inches deep and pushed back the lid. Inside was a shallow tray divided into small velvet-lined compartments holding tiny vials of liquids and powders. She pulled that tray out, and the one beneath it which had slightly larger compartments holding various crystals and small arcane baubles, then looked down in the bottom and pulled out a small lidded pot made of alabaster about the size to fit in the palm of his hand. She pulled off the top with a small effort to reveal some kind of blue colored lotion that smelled a little like incense.

"What's in it?" Fenris demanded, sniffing at it suspiciously, wary of some kind of magical trap. It was never wise to just up and accept anything a mage handed you after all, if you did then the next thing you knew you were turning blue or sprouting feathers.

"Embrium and cursebane, a touch of numbweed, finely powdered sapstone, one or two other ingredients, mostly to improve the scent,"Merrill rattled off. "Oh! and the usual dragonoil and widowsease for the lotion base. Nothing harmful, not much magic involved except what I use to help the plants grow. I thought I'd try a variation on a dwarven potion they use for when one of their workers gets a bad lyrium burn."

Before he could protest Merrill dipped a flat tab of wood in the salve and daubed it on his chin where the markings still burned. There was a short pause while the lotion took effect then a tingling, icy-hot feeling leeched the burn right out of his skin! A short moment later the burn was completely gone, leaving only behind a feeling of coolness and a mild tingle that felt quite nice.

"Be glad he's not allergic to any of those," Anders interjected. "Or else you would absolutely _never_ hear the end of it."

Fenris didn't deign to acknowledge the prattle of the other mage. He was not vindictive but it was satisfying to him to point out all the ways that magic could mess up a good thing. He _could_ have just poured cold water over that cut and been fine, but noooo, the mage had to be all "it'll get infected and fall off" as he slathers on some greasy salve that's supposed to help it heal, and the next thing Fenris knows he's itching and red where the damned healer had to go and smear his devil-salve. _Then_ he'd had the sheer cheek to find the fact that Fenris' skin had a bad reaction to one of the ingredients amusing.

"Some of these crafting ingredients are pretty rare," Anders remarked as he riffled through her box of mage-stuff with an admiring look on his face. "And expertly concentrated I might add."

"Oh!" Merrill said, pinkening in pleasure with the compliment to her skill. "Why thank you Anders! Hawke generously lets me have access to his crafting ingredients from time to time in exchange for this special soap he has me make for him."

"Let me guess, it has heartthorn and tenderwisp and lovebetrue in it, right?"

"Yes!" he she said, evidently surprised he knew of it. "I try to tell him that those don't really do much applied topically. I figure he must just like the smell of them, though heartthorn has a certain astringency to it."

Anders chuckled in seeming amusement.

"Its an old Fereldan recipe," he said. "Hawke believes that it makes him irresistible to the ladies!"

"_No_! Not _truly_," Merrill said in disbelief. "But it does no such thing!"

"I know that and you know that, but people will have their superstitions sometimes," the healer replied with a shrug. "I keep trying to tell him that its nothing more than a suckerpotion, but the man swears by it and won't listen."

"Maybe it works despite its ineffectiveness," Merrill said with a small smile. "Hawke always seems much more confident when I give him his silly soap, and he's so naturally charming, maybe it gives him the extra confidence he needs to be himself and charm the ladies with his personality."

"I can't believe you sell suckerpotions!" Anders said, a little teasingly.

"I do not!" Merrill protested. "A Keeper is the Healer of the Clan. As First, it's only natural I'd know all the herbal remedies and potions necessary to keep my people healthy and well."

"Well here in the cities, medicine can be big business, especially the sorts of nostrums people will buy for a problem that probably has no real cure. If I have to see one more fellow about the size of his... ah, nevermind. Suffice to say, you could probably earn your rent and then some if you set up a simple lotion and tonic stall."

"It hadn't even occurred to me to sell my work like a stall vendor," Merrill said, looking wide eyed and impressed at the mage for his city-savvy. "In the clans it is the duty of the First and the Keeper and any other hand with an aptitude for it, to make what the clan needs to stay healthy. It seems mean to make people pay for something that will make them feel better."

"An attitude I completely approve of," Anders agreed with what passed for cheer from the melancholy man. "I charge as little for my services in the clinic as I can get away with and still keep in bandages and soap."

"If you'd like, I'll be happy to supply what I can of the basics," Merrill said eagerly, always happy to help out. "The ingredients for basic burn creams and liniments, disinfectants and tinctures for coughs, bruisebanes and healing aids aren't difficult to grow. If I had access to a still I could make them for you."

Fenris watched the conversation bat back and forth easily between the two mages while they talked "shop" without him, like he wasn't even in the room. Was she smiling a little too much at the abomination? He knew that Merrill had a tendency towards cheerfulness anyway but it looked to him like she was enjoying conversing with the mage a little too much.

"I'd normally say you're too kind," Anders said. "But the clinic is running low, and a bad sweep of the rattles is running thorough the alleyways. Children are always the first to suffer it, so in this case I'll take shameless advantage of you."

Fenris felt his gaze narrow at the phrasing that the abomination had used. No-one was going to be taking advantage of anyone here.

"Don't be silly, I offered to help didn't I? There's no taking advantage when it's aid freely offered," Merrill beamed up a him.

"Don't you have some cats in lowtown to chase," he interjected irritatedly into the conversation before the two of them could continue with their little "let's heal the world" fest.

"Fenris," Merrill said in a tone that was mildly reproving. "Anders just came by to see that everything was well, there's no need to be rude."

"So you performed some ancient Elven cleansing ritual," he said ignoring Fenris as though he hadn't spoken, but the glance that came from the corner of the irritating mage's eye said that he was enjoying it. He turned to Merrill and Fenris mentally debated the emotional satisfaction he might derive from throwing something at his head. "May I ask what for? And why is there a glassed over burn on the floor?"

"Oh, I used it to destroy all of my books and the things I used for blood magic," Merrill informed the mage.

The way the man's jaw dropped was quite comical. Sadly, he recovered quickly.

"Destroy them? So then... you're giving it up?" he asked, looking cautiously delighted.

"Yes," Merrill said firmly. "Keeper Marethari and Fenris and you were right to warn me away from it."

"Well, thank the Maker! This is wonderful news," he said, smiling down at her and looking genuinely happy for her. "You're too good a girl to get caught in the teeth of that stuff, I always thought it'd make me very sad to see you get hurt by it. I'm glad you're going to be okay."

"Well thank you," Merrill said, clearly touched. "You've always been so very kind to worry about me so much, but I guess that's just like you Anders, you always want to help other people."

_:Great Maker,:_ Fenris thought, rolling his eyes. _:It's so cloyingly sweet in here it's sickening.:_

"Yes, yes can we have done with this love feast," he grumbled.

"As the only warrior in the room I know _you_ can't really appreciate the true gravity of what's just happened here," Anders said, clearly irritated at the interruption and more than willing to talk down to Fenris about his area of mage expertise. "So I'll elucidate for you."

Fenris sent a snarling look his way for the tone.

"Judging by the feel of the air around here," the irritating abomination continued, clearly ignoring the look. "Merrill has just single-handedly performed a spell that would normally take at least two enchanters if not more. She's also just put herself up as the new target on the haystack for every demon within easy reach in the Fade, particularly the stronger of the ilk. She's proven her strength, and they will want it. They'll target her to get it."

"If she doesn't use blood magic any more they will have no way to take control, with her surroundings clean there's no danger of corruption. The battle is won, is it not?" Fenris asked.

"Not hardly," Anders replied condescendingly. "I'm sure they figure that once she's made one deal with a demon, she'll eventually make more. She might have turned her back on the extra power, but mark me, the offers will keep rolling in."

"And speaking of someone who has done the work of more than one mage in a casting, _this_ mage is very tired from all the work, and would like to have a long rest to recover," Merrill said, not bothering to suppress a yawn. "You two may snip at each other all you like somewhere else, I'm for bed. Ooout with yon gents!"

Merrill seized an arm in each hand and very firmly led them both toward the door and neatly pushed them out of it, shutting it behind them. Fenris and Anders both exchanged a look.

"Did she tell you what this is about?" Anders asked him. "Because it seems like a sudden and drastic change. Granted, it's clearly for the better, and anything that gets her away from that awful insistence that 'blood magic is okay to handle if done carefully' insanity is worth encouraging, but... it still worries me a bit to have a sudden turn-around without a clear explanation. She's been so stubborn about it until now."

"Don't jinx it, mage," Fenris said. "The last thing we want is for her to go back to it."

"Do you think she will?"

"She seems resolved, but then again she was equally stubborn about the blood magic for as long as we've known her."

"Try to see the bright side, elf," Anders said. "Maybe she just got homesick. Without her working forbidden magic, her Clan will probably take her back."

"Or maybe that mirror is even more dangerous than she's prepared to deal with," Fenris argued grimly.

"Ever the optimist," Anders said, but Fenris noted he did not disagree with him. A rarity in itself, and on those occasions when the two of them managed a commonality of opinion on anything, it was worth noting.

* * *

_**Aaaaand... Anders!**_ _**Am I the only one that thinks that Fenris' hair had to have been changed to white, I mean, he has black eyebrows (makes one wonder if the carpet matches the drapes eh?). There's an old wives tale about someone being so terrified that it turned their hair white, perhaps the process that gave Fenris his markings turned his hair white.**_


	9. Chapter 9

b

Merrill looked about the place after Fenris and Anders had been politely shoved out the door. Her magesight clearly showed that every last trace of taint and demon magic had been burned away. In addition there were wards sunk into the stone of the walls and floors and ceiling that would keep away any sort of inimical magic for some time yet. The Eluvian still stood in the corner of its room with misleading quiescence, but now it stood there surrounded by an ancient elvhen mage-circle, a shield and ward combination that would warn her if it suddenly decided to act up.

_:I suppose I'm safe enough for now,:_ Merrill thought.

She walked over to the tiny pantry she'd made for herself in the main room and collected the last few articles from the shelf. She'd been putting off a visit to the marketplace for the last little while so there was not much on the rickety little shelves; the last end of a loaf, half a link of sausage, a quarter wheel of cheese, and an apple that was just starting to wrinkle. Merrill erased the miniature zapping spell she'd been reduced, out of desperation, into placing around the small collection of food to keep the rats out. She then gathered her small hoard on the table. After that spell, she was famished!

_:Famished and weak,:_ she thought to herself. Anders had been kind enough to revitalize the worst of it away but she still felt weak-kneed and exhausted, as though she'd tried to swim half a mile upstream and had just now hauled her weary body out of the water.

She quickly consumed the small bounty and wished that she'd kept Anders and Fenris there at least long enough to walk with her to either the Market or The Hanged Man, it was night time already and Merrill had agreed to respect Varric's request that she stay off the streets alone at night.

"I'm full enough for now I guess," she mumbled reluctantly to herself. "I'll just have an extra hearty breakfast in the morning on my way out."

She hadn't mentioned it to either Fenris or Anders because she knew that one or the both of them would either tell Hawke or feel obliged to come along themselves, but Merrill had made arrangements to rent a pony cart for the day to convey the Eluvian in as she headed to Sundermount. The cleansing of the room with the tehn'shii ritual had only been the first step.

_:A trial by fire to be certain,:_ Merrill thought to herself.

She'd never before felt or imagined such agony as when she'd stepped into the circle and been consumed by the torrent of raw magic burning through every last part of her. It had been like standing in a raging river of boiling lava that battered her from every direction as it poured over her, while on the inside she had felt like her bones had turned to white-hot iron and her blood into liquid lightning as her body, mind and soul had been scoured clean by the agony of the cleansing fire. All she'd known was to hang on. She had felt him there with her then, resonating with her pain and not understanding what was going on. Merrill had felt guilty that he should be subjected to this through no fault of his own and it had been a desire to protect him from it that had woken her to herself and enabled her to use her inner strength to properly end the spell.

_:Even in it's latent state, it seems that the soulbond still connects us whether we like it or not,:_ Merrill thought with both sadness and trepidation.

The sadness was partly selfish; she'd had plans for herself and for her future and they had most certainly _not_ included the grouchy mage-hater anywhere in them save in connection to Hawke. The trepidation was a mixture of things; if in it's latent state the soulbond was still powerful enough to form such a resonance between their two souls, what would a bond that had been fully awakened be like?

She had read accounts of what a full soulbonding was like, all of them agreed that their partner was always their in their hearts and the back of their minds, never separate. The bonded who had given the accounts had spoken of it like it was a comfort; they were never alone, never had to face anything in solitary for their bondmate was always there, a pillar of unwavering support and love.

_:Fenris? A pillar of unwavering support and love?:_ Merrill thought feeling a bit uncharitable after so long of having to bear listening to him sling scorn and vitriol at her at every opportunity. _:I would probably first see a Templar sprout bat wings and fly under his own power from Kirkwall to Minrathous! The only thing _that_ man is ever likely to unwaveringly support is an Exalted March on every mage in Thedas.:_

Probably including _her_. He was not shy about expressing his opinion that every mage in the whole world should be at _least_ locked up in a tower, if not held in magic-sapping chains like a Qunari serebaas. That wasn't even counting the especial hatred he reserved for practitioners of blood magic.

_:The bond is still latent,:_ Merrill comforted herself._ :It's possible that Mythal is just using this soulbonding thing as a way of expressing Her disapproval of my life choices. So I've given up the Blood Magic, and tomorrow I'll go to Sundermount and make things right there. If I can subdue and banish the demon with the Aku'zahn ritual, perhaps that will be enough to prove to my Goddess that I am Her loyal daughter, willing to be guided by Her wishes, and She'll feel that since I've learned my lesson there's no need to hold me into any soulbonding with any surly mage-haters from Tevinter.:_

Even in her own thoughts it was a stretch, but it was really the only hope Merrill had of getting out of this soulbonding thing. She couldn't stand the thought of being chained to him for the rest of her life, and she just knew that he was going to blame her for it if their bond came into fruition. Nevermind the fact that she had as little control over it as he did, all he was going to see was some magically emplaced fetter tying the two of them together, so of course the mage in the pairing _must_ be responsible for it.

_:I don't see him reacting to a fully formed soulbond with me very well at all,:_ Merrill thought. _:And I can't say that I'm exactly eager to put up with his constant derision of everything I say and do either.:_

The thought of being around him, even when things were normal between them, could be unpleasant at times because it seemed like he never had anything nice to say to her. She could understand having a difference of opinion with her over her life choices, and she could certainly respect where he was coming from and his point of veiw... she just didn't see why he couldn't try to accord her the same respect (or at the very least, just agree to disagree) but he was always _on_ her about it. It made being in his company unpleasant for her. She didn't want to even try to imagine a lifetime of it.

_:If I win against the demon tomorrow, I shall pray to the goddess Mythal to revoke Her Will,:_ Merrill thought._ :Perhaps if she has been generous enough to save my life by waking me up to the danger I was in by placing me in such a Bonding, she will be generous enough to undo it when it is no longer necessary.:_

It was a testament to how very much she did _not_ want to be Bonded to Fenris that she was even entertaining such thoughts in the first place. Among the Dalish, a Soulbonding was considered a mark of Divine Favor, as well as an expression of the Will of the Goddess Mythal. It was also considered to be a symbol of hope for the People, a sign that, though their Gods were sealed away, They yet had just enough power to offer small blessings and comfort to Their children. It was something, and for a people as outcast and downtrod as the Elvhen, even the smallest something was still _something_. To deny a Soulbonding, among the Dalish, was blasphemy. The Dalish didn't throw that word around like the templars or other followers of the Maker Cult did, very few things were considered acts that went counter to Divine Will, but denying a Soulbonding was among them.

_:If the Goddess does not answer my prayers I do not know what I will do,:_ Merrill thought sadly. _:Perhaps if we are separated for long enough and there is enough distance between us, and the bond is still latent, it will just fade with time. I must hope that this is the case, otherwise I will face Divine Marriage to a man who despises me. I cannot imagine anything but unhappiness coming of such a thing.:_

Merrill was so wound up by her troubled thoughts on the matter of her potential Soulbonding with Fenris that she had to resort to both a centering ritual and full body meditation and relaxation routine before she could settle herself enough to sleep. And even at that Merrill decided that it was important that she truly rest both her body and mind for the coming ordeal and she cast the magic ritual to send herself into deeptrance, a quasi-meditative state that protected a sleeping mage's mind from the fade, at the cost of some of their mana. She slept soundly and without dreams that night.

* * *

Morning arrived and Merrill was up at the crack of dawn erasing the chalked knotwork mage-circle around the mirror and doing a last minute clean up of the place preparatory to her setting out to Sundermount for a few days. As soon as the sun was a sliver over the horizon of the brilliant sky a small cart with a placid donkey rolled up to her door. She had made arrangements for it the day previous, before she'd started in on her cleaning, knowing that she'd be too wrung out when she completed the Tehn'shii ritual to make the trip that very day. Merrill couldn't even begin to lift the heavy frame for the as yet still unrepaired Eluvian but for a few extra coppers, the drover she was renting the cart and donkey (and his braw laddie) lifted it into the bed of the cart for her. She would have liked to be able to make the journey on her own, but the cart and donkey represented the man's livelihood, and as such he would not be letting it out of his sight. She wrote a note to Hawke (or Varric or Isabella in case they should drop by) letting them know that she had left to go to Sundermount on personal business and was not certain when she'd be back. It was still near to dawn when, after stopping at all of Merrill's favorite food stalls in the marketplace (there was no telling when she would be back to enjoy their exotic bounty again) the three of them were on their way.

The trip over to the Dalish camp was uneventful. Merrill blamed not having Hawke along for the lack of excitement. There were no bandits or rogue mages, not even a dragonling showed its snout to make their steady placcid pace go any slower. They made their steady, plodding way through the wilds to the area where the camp was, Merrill lost in thought the whole way. It was only mid-morning when Merrill's little conveyance pulled into the Dalish camp and she felt that the journey seemed to have been over much more quickly than she would have liked.

_:No point in putting it off,:_ she thought skewing up her courage, taking a deep breath and ascending from the cart.

"Wait here, please," she said to the carter and his nephew.

They were both elvhen, naturally, Merrill wouldn't bring humans into the camp if she could help it, mainly out of consideration for the humans. Her people were not often hospitable to strange Shems, though Marethari was far more open minded about it than many Keepers she'd met. Even though they were elves, the carter and his boy both looked around nervously at all the armed hunters eying them.

_:It's not them that the Hunters are on edge about,:_ Merrill thought with an inward wince she did not show._ :It's their cargo.:_

It didn't take a genius to figure out what the wrapped parcel in the back of Merrill's cart might be, and by the looks of things, no-one in the clan was at all happy about it. In retrospect, she couldn't really blame them on that account.

She gripped the hem of her Vestments of the First, which she still wore, and steeled herself for what she knew she had to do next.

In Ancient Arthalan, bowing had been part of everyday life. The degree to which one bowed and the order of bowing varied from situation to situation, but it had been considered a sign of mutual respect and an important part of their communal life. In the Dales the traditions had changed slightly; Elves only bowed to other Elves. After the Exalted Marches had sundered their homeland, Dalish Culture had changed the practice even more. Among the Dalish, to bow one's head to another was no longer an acknowledgment of equality or fellowship, it was now a mark of submission. The oath that all Dalish shared was "We are Dalish and never again shall we submit," so to bow ones head, even to another elf, had come to mean a gesture of humility.

Just as in Ancient Elvhenan there were various degrees to which one bowed. Most apologies that required more than verbal acknowledgement could be settled with a display of humility by either party that was not greater than a fifteen degree bow, anything more was usually considered excessive. If someone was truly sorry, and felt that they had wronged another person and wished to display a deeper humility for a more grievous hurt, they might bow forty five degrees from the waist. Even that second bow was quite uncommon and usually reserved for slights that had grown into feuds over the years. There were two other forms of bow, but they were used so very rarely that even a Dalish elf might go their who life and never see it. The Secondary bow was where one knelt on the ground and placed ones palms down but the head remained up and the arms fully extended so that one could look the recipient in the eye still. This bow was usually used as a mark of sorrow... as in for instance, someone failed to protect one's kin, or was responsible for the death or serious injury of a member of someone's immediate family. The last order of bow, called a Final Bow was used almost never, for it marked out a humility so _abject_ that complete abasement was the only way in which ones shame and sorrow could be adequately expressed. It was used to beg forgiveness for a crime so grievous that the wronged party could rightly ask for their life in recompense. With the back of the neck exposed and the hands away from any weapon, the recipent could, if they so chose, remove the head from the body. It was, essentially, offering thier life. This involved kneeling on the ground, placing ones palms flat down before them and bowing their head all the way over so that their forehead touched the ground. For a people who marked their devotion to their gods on their faces, it was indeed a measure of the shame and humility a person felt.

Merrill had never seen a final bow before, and had never thought she would or could do anything so wrong to warrant giving one, but she had, and she would not shrink from acknowledging her grievous offense and giving it (and the one she had wronged) its full due. She had hurt her Keeper, not only the leader of her clan and her teacher, but someone she loved as dearly as a mother and whom she knew loved her dearly in return. What else but a final bow could possibly make up for all the hurt she had given her? What else could convey her deep remorse for following a course of action that was so clearly wrong not just for her, but had weakened her clan and jeopardized the succession of leadership? That alone would have deserved a final bow.

_:Keeper Marethari would not order my head removed, but she would be perfectly within her rights to excommunicate me,:_ Merrill thought with tension and real fear coiling in her gut.

She knew that there would now be many within Sabrae Clan who would feel that their Keeper should do just that, rid the Clan of the bad apple who had turned her back on them and followed the dark paths of forbidden magic so that her evil did not taint the rest of the Clan. After all, Merrill had turned to Blood Magic once and it was well known for it's nature to corrupt a mage, there was nothing preventing her from turning to it again later, and what would the Clan have done if Merrill succeeded Marethari as Keeper when she went back to the bad?

_:Well they'd have to kill me, naturally,:_ Merrill answered her own question. _:And I'll bet a large number of my Clan would rather avoid the whole mess altogether and just not have me back.:_

And she wouldn't blame them truthfully. Some things couldn't be undone and Merrill had been resolute in her decision when she had made it, even though it was the wrong one. An apology wouldn't erase her actions and she would have a fight before her even if she were forgiven. It would take a lot for Merrill to win back the trust of her Clan, and trust was absolutely essential to a Keeper. It could be that Marethari, even if she did not excommunicate Merrill, would still not take her back into the fold and certainly not as First. A Clan had to be able to trust in thier Keeper on a bone-deep level; trust that her judgement would be fair and impartial and always with the Clan's good at its heart, trust that their Keeper would look out for them, that thier Keeper would refrain from the temptations of power... Sabrae Clan would not trust Merrill, for in their eyes she was untrustworthy. Who would trust a Blood Mage to lead them?

_:But regaining what I have lost is not the issue here,:_ Merrill reminded herself. _:Making things right and taking responsibility for my actions and decisions is. What the Clan decides is for later when I have done all I need to do.:_

Merrill had to force herself not to look to the left or to the right, keeping her eyes trained soley on her Keeper as she made a walk that felt like a mile but was really only a few feet. She knew that every last Dalish in all of Sabrae Clan was staring at her, but she ignored the stares and the mutters. Her heart ached to see the hope and sorrow in her Keepers eyes at the sight of her prodigal daughter's return and it near broke her heart to know that she was the cause of it. If she had any real regret about the path she had chosen it was this.

"Welcome home, da'lehn," she said.

_:When did her voice start to sound so... __**old**__?:_ Merrill wondered. Her teacher sounded weary, bone tired and sad.

Merrill dropped down to her knees and softly placed her palms flat in the dirt before her then deliberately lowered her head down, down, down. For a Dalish, every inch would be fraught with significance. The skin of her vala'sliin touched the cool earth. Her back and neck prickled with being exposed and helpless as well as the awareness that everyone in the whole camp, people she had known for nearly all of her life, were witnessing her humiliation.

"I know I am not worthy of it," she spoke the words in Ancient Elvhen. "But your unworthy child begs your forgiveness and asks to be given the chance to make it right."

She heard her teachers breath catch in a sound like a strangled sob but Merrill resisted the urge to raise her head. In a final bow, done properly, one did not raise thier head until given leave to do so. There were tales, surely exaggerated, that a pentient remained bowed over for days before they were forgiven.

_:I doubt she would, but I hope she does not. That demon will not wait.:_

"Please, get up da'len," Marethari said, her voice shaking and on the verge of tears.

Even before Merrill could raise her head she felt the presence of her Keeper next to her, and found herself enfolded in her familiar embrace. Her pride and stubbornness had not let her admit to how very alone she had felt these past years, isolated from her Clan and in the alienage where everything was strange and people lived so separately. She had missed the familiar comfort of her people and her life, but most of all she had missed Marethari. She missed her wisdom and guidance, the soft sound of her singing on a long winters night, the feel of her arms around Merrill comforting her accepting her and loving her, silently telling her that it was okay that she was just a little strange, she was loved and cherished just as she was.

_:Fenris must be right about something else as well,:_ Merrill thought, for once happy to allow him another victory._ :I am a fool to turn away from this.:_

She could feel her Keeper's body shake subtly with suppressed sobs, and Merrill realized that there were tears running down her own face. Whether they were tears of joy at their reunion or tears of pain for causing her beloved Keeper so much sorrow she could not have said. Her emotions were as overwhelming as they were confused, she only knew that she was so relieved to be back where she belonged.

_:But forgiveness is one thing, and redemption another. It is my duty to make right the wrongs I have done. My duty and my responsibility.:_

"Keeper," Merrill said, raising herself up so that she could look her teacher in the eye. "I am filled with sorrow to be the cause of so much suffering for you and the clan... I must make it right. More than mere forgiveness is at stake. As the one who created the rift, I must be the one to mend it. It's my responsibility."

"I have only just gotten you home, da'len," she said, pain evident in her voice.

"It cannot be delayed," Merrill said with steady resolution. "The influence of blood magic has been burned away by the tehn'shii, but the root of the taint must yet be dealt with. I'll take that cursed mirror to the cave at the summit, and I'll send that demon on its way. I won't allow it to hurt you or anyone else. As the one responsible for offering it a foothold in this world, whatever my intentions might have been, it is incumbent upon me to finish the matter. It is my responsibility Keeper, as surely as it is yours to guard the clan."

Merrill felt her heart squeeze in sympathetic pain at the sight of greater sorrow bleeding into her teachers gaze even as she nodded her head in acceptance. Merrill had added that last sentence as a reminder to her teacher, who looked like she would have insisted on going with Merrill and exposing Sabrae Clan's only Keeper to grave danger, that her duty lay in protecting her Clan. This was a journey that Merrill would have to make alone.

"I've underwent the Ordeal of Starfire, Keeper," Merrill reassured her, taking her by each shoulder and looking directly into her eyes to will the feeling of strength and certainty into her that Merrill was just now starting to feel.

Now that the task was at last before her, Merrill felt an almost strange sort of calm and assurance take over her. She didn't doubt herself, there was none of the usual second-guessing or lack of confidence, she felt in her heart and soul, that this was the right decision. She was filled with purpose and she embraced it, all of her fears subsided and rock-solid certainty replaced it, armoring her for the ordeal to come. This was right.

"For the first time in a long time, I think, my mind and magic are completely my own. My will is set on this, and I have a strength that will not waver in the face of a thousand demons. Believe in me Keeper."

It seemed that for once, her teacher, always so wise and filled with words of guidance and strength for her people, could not speak. She closed her eyes in acknowledgement of Merrill's resolve, and nodded, tears flowing down the face marked with the valaslin of Ghilan'nain, the Halla goddess.

Merrill rose and walked back to where the carter and his boy waited, only to discover that a few of the warriors had taken the initiative of offloading the eluvian from the city donkey-cart and had placed it instead on one of the smaller halla-carts (not a full aravel, but a simple cart) and were sending the man and his nephew on their way.

"Ma seranas," she thanked the hunter who had done it.

His answer was a surly scowl of disapproval that could have given the ones Fenris gave her a run for its money and despite her calm, Merrill nearly quailed under it and its implications.

"Go if you must, foolish girl," he grunted. "You've hurt our Keeper enough with your quest. Put an end to it right and final, or go and live with the Shem."

Merrill didn't have any argument she could make to that so she simply nodded and placed her hand on the soft muzzle of the halla who had decided to help her take the eluvian up the mountain. She turned her face to the mountain, took up her staff and set out. She was at the edge of the camp when Saliira, a girl several years younger than Merrill who had showed some signs of Talent but had not come into any power yet, rushed out with a small bundle in a hastily woven grass basket. Merrill looked up in mystification at the gift.

"You're going to face down a demon so powerful that even the Keeper orders our hunters to keep their distance," the girl said, some awe and hero-worship in her tone. "Even I know that this might be a one way trip. You go to look out for all of us, just I know you always mean to lethalaan, it would be wrong to send you on your way with an empty stomach."

Merrill smiled in gratitude, for it had been some hours since her breakfast.

"Thank you, da'len," she replied, touched at the unexpected display of solidarity. She'd thought the whole clan hated her. She wouldn't have blamed them if they did.

"Go up there and knock that demon's teeth in!" Saliira cheered.

"By the time I'm through with it da'len, it will wish I had been so gentle," Merrill promised her.

h


	10. Chapter 10

l

Fenris woke again in a foul mood, snippy and impatient. His dreams had been different from usual, normally he dreamed of being hunted, and then turning on the hunters. Sometimes he dreamed of the days he had spent in the jungles on Seheron with the Fog Warriors, whose faces still haunted his sleep. Last night he had dreamed of being nowhere in particular, all was calm and peaceful, and when all was calm and peaceful he always expected them to go wrong at any moment, but the dream had continued in a peaceful monotony that had _eaten_ at him as the night dragged on. He was accustomed to his dreams being what many would characterize as nightmares, but Fenris always welcomed the battle, when he fought he always knew where he stood and there was a certain amount of control in his expectations. The unwavering peace of the previous nights dreaming had wound him up tighter than a coiled spring in a dwarven mechanism as the night wore on. The ever-present tension caused by expectation had made him look for non-existent shadows, waiting for an ambush that never came. The restlessness followed him into his waking life, the abandoned mansion despite its many rooms, feeling small and confined, the air stale and hot.

He paced out on the upper balcony, the one that overlooked the inner courtyard of the house he lived in, debating where he should go to work the restlessness out of his muscles. He wasn't in the habit of going off visiting but he found himself willing to venture out that day. His acquaintances in Hightown were limited to Hawke and Aveline, the former could be difficult to pin down even on a good day, and the latter was already busy for the next three days on a training mission with her newest batch of recruits. Isabella was already off looking for whatever it was that she needed to keep her old associate off her back, so she wasn't likely to provide any sort of distraction or amusement, Varric was up to his dwarven eyebrows in some sort of strange family dispute so it was even odds whether he might be in the Hanged Man for company that day.

_:I suppose I should check on the witch, just to make sure she hasn't backslid and started conjuring up demons,:_ he thought.

Then he blinked, and frowned. Since when did he go out of his way to spend time with a mage when he didn't absolutely have to? _Never_, that's when. And yet, the thought had slipped into his mind without his conscious approval of it. It had seemed perfectly natural when he'd thought of it, go check on Merrill and see how she was faring after that spell she'd fired off. He had to take the other mage's word for the fact that it was a difficult and powerful spell, but the concern and solicitude for her had been unthinking, instinctual... and _completely_ against his character and everything he stood for.

_:She's bewitched me,:_ he decided firmly.

That was the obvious, no, the _only_ answer for it. She had to have done some kind of blood-mage trickery the the day before and that was why his lyrium markings had reacted so strongly.

_:And it also explains the strange dreams,:_ he added to himself. _:Blood Mages are the only ones who can dreamwalk...:_

Though from all he had overheard (and observed for himself) from his former Master, blood magic used dreamwalking to place a victims mind in thrall, but the caster had to be present within the dream to take control and Merrill had not featured anywhere in it.

_:And my markings feel fine this morning,:_ he thought to himself, loathe to be even-handed when he could simply blame magic for whatever was wrong.

The lyrium in his skin was always at a low-level irritation, like a soft scratch on his skin, easily ignored but often distracting nonetheless. Yesterday the markings had throbbed and ached the whole trip back to the place he slept. His whole body had felt like a slight burn along the lines, except for the ones on his chin, which had continued to feel just fine where the salve had treated them. The previous evening he had been very tempted to take the stuff and smear it over top all of his markings. Native caution and a deep suspicion for witchy items like magical salves, had held him back (plus the memory of the terrible itching on even the small place where Anders had smeared his demon-salve that time) had made him use only a very small amount on a small area and see how that worked. If he had no reaction to it by morning he would consider it safe to use, in judicious amounts. One could never be too careful with magic.

_:I don't __**feel **__enthralled.: _

As bodyguard to his former master he had been around those who had been enthralled, and he was familiar with the symptms of someone who had been dreamwalked upon and whose mind and will were under the power of a blood mage. There was none of the mindless need to please, the overwhelming want to do anything and everything to gain even the slightest bit of their masters approval. Fenris tried to mentally picture Merrill in the role of a heart-eating blood magister of the first order, commanding slaves about and forcing people to do her bidding, and reluctantly found the idea to be preposterous. Reluctantly. Unless there had been an extremely strange side effect to the spell she'd cast last night that had radically altered her personality, Fenris had a hard time picturing Merrill, as she was, in the role of an enthralling demon-queen who dreamwalked and tried to bend people to her will.

_:She might have what it takes to conjure the unholy and to deal with demons, but she can't even keep the rats out of her pantry,:_ he snorted to himself.

And when they did get in and eat her food, she congratulated them on working so hard that they must deserve it. Not exactly a prime example of the sort of self-serving arrogance that so characterized the magisters he was familiar with, if he were honest.

If she had continued down the path of Blood Magic, then yes, the demons and the dreamwalking and all of it would have been her inevitable destiny, for there were none who were proof against the lure of power, but despite what he'd said to her when they'd investigated Hadriana's slavepen, she was quite a long ways off from it. She left out milk for lost kittens and puppies, and talked to plants to encourage them to grow, liked to gaze at clouds on a sunny day and find ones shaped like cute fuzzy animals, She was a devout vegetarian, and despite outright scorn and derision heaped upon her at times, she almost never had a harsh word to say to anyone. That wasn't to say she couldn't be stubborn, because she could.

_:Up until yesterday, she had a stubborn streak about that mirror and the blood magic about a mile wide,:_ he thought. _:It's good that she is seeing sense finally, but that thing is still trouble.:_

Ah-ha! So that's what was making him so restless! He wasn't interested in visiting Merrill, he wanted to check on her demon-mirror. Now that he knew how dangerous it was, and Merrill was finally coming to her senses, there wouldn't be any objection to a little help in destroying the thing for good.

_:And if I'm going to go tracking down demons, it were wise to bring a brother of the chantry with me, I suppose,:_ he thought, vague plan forming in his mind.

He altered his steps and loped off across Hightown to the nearer destination of the Chantry. Maybe Hawke was not the only one who could gather a party and go in search of demons to slay. He found Brother Sebastion, for once not knelt in prayer. Instead the chantry brother was actually in conversation with Hawke who was shadowed by Anders (an apostate in the chantry was a strange sight, to be sure). The two rogues were conversing with the mage and Sebastion brightened at seeing Fenris approach.

"You can ask him," Anders said with a shrug. "I don't know what's happened to suddenly change her mind about it, I can only be grateful that she has changed her mind before it's too late."

So Anders had told Hawke about Merrill's sudden shift in direction already. That was good, Fenris wasn't interested in relating tales.

"Maybe she fell in love with our grumpy elf, eh?" Hawke suggested roguishly, nudging Anders with his elbow.

"I doubt it's as simple as that, and what exactly would she have to fall in love with _him_ about?" Anders scoffed, and Fenris scowled in his direction for the insulting implication.

"The way he always insults her at every opportunity?"anders went on, ignoring Fenris' dirty look. "Or perhaps the dulcet and loving tones with which he calls her "witch" and other less savory things any chance he gets just leaves her captivated?"

Fenris was surprised to discover a very tiny pang when the abomination bluntly pointed out his own behavior to him. It wasn't that he outright disliked Merrill, exactly, he disliked mages in general and blood mages he rather hated with a fiery passion.

_:Which rather begs the question of what I should make of her now, if she no longer follows the dark path,:_ he thought.

"That's neither here nor there at the moment," he said out loud, answering both his own internal question and the abominations observations.

"And you say the magisters never take any responsibility for how they behave," the abomination shot back sharply.

Fenris scowled at him and opened his mouth to reply in kind, because he felt another little pang as Anders' words again hit rather too close to the mark for his own comfort.

"So we're headed to the alienage then," Sebastion said, clearly intent on interrupting the incipient argument between Fenris and the erstwhile healing mage.

"Yeah, I think so," Hawke concurred. "I have to see this miracle transformation for myself."

With Hawke in the lead, and himself, Anders and Sebastion following, they walked the distance down the great steps from Hightown to Lowtown and the alienage carved into the old mining pits where slaves had once quarried rock to built the roads of the Tevinter Imperium long ago before the Free Marches had been, well, free. Along the way his companions questioned him closely about the spell that the elvhen mage had cast. Anders in particular had seemed very impressed by it. Sebastion had seemed to be of two minds about it; his faith said that the only taint-clearing holiness that existed in the world was by the grace of the Maker, conveyed by His Bride through the sanctified vessels of Her Servants. The idea that any mage could draw a few lines on the floor and create holy ground by her will alone seemed very close to blasphemy to the devout prince. On the other hand, he seemed very interested in the way Merrill had subjected herself to spiritual immolation via holy fire, likening it to many fine examples among the Saints of the Chantry.

They arrived at Merrill's little place in the alienage and were unpleasantly surprised to find the place unlocked and empty. A quick scan of the room showed a note folded to catch attention and securely weighted so it wouldn't fall on the floor. Hawke read it out loud for the benefit of the one person in the room who could not read. She'd left that morning and taken the eluvian with her to go back to Sundermount, she wasn't sure when she would be back.

"That "so sorry, I'm not certain when I'll be back, please water my plants" sounds more to me like she's not certain if she'll be back at all," Anders remarked after the note was read.

The other three exchanged the same troubled look.

"Well, nothing for it lads," Hawke said firmly. "Grab your gear and hop to, we're off to Sundermount. No telling what sort of trouble she's got herself into this time."

"Feh!" Fenris snorted in derision at the statement. "I can tell you precisely what sort of trouble she's got herself into, it involves demons. And magic. And probably more demons."

Anders rolled his eyes at Fenris' tone but, it must be noted, did not disagree with the assessment. The three of them didn't delay for much longer than it took to ask around the alienage about what time the young mage had left and discovered she'd hired a donkey cart for the day to take a large, heavy object that had been wrapped in a sheet somewhere out of the city. Armed and ready they set out to the elvhen camp at teh base of the Sundermount, if they paced it on the double they'd get there before dark, hopefull in enough time to stop the little idiot from doing something stupid. Fenris didn't hold out much hope for that.


	11. Chapter 11

The Rite of Aku'zhan had come to her through her research, a side-trail that had not been useful with regards to the eluvian, but had been worth knowing just the same. The tome she had found it in had been written in Elder Arcanum, the ancient dialect of the modern-day use-language of the Tevinter Imperium, Tevene. It was a sad fact that most of the preserved knowledge of her people that had not been lost over time and upheavals had been preserved by the culture(s) that supplanted the Elves of Arthalan. The clan's Keepers and their Firsts naturally all knew what was left of the written and spoken language of the elves, more than that they were also expected to know the written languages of the Qunari, of the Tevinters, of the Free Marches, of the Orlesians and _all_ of the written languages across Thedas because there were often texts and scrolls that contained ancient Elvhen knowledge that had been preserved or written about by scholars that had had an interest in the lost Elvhen Culture. When such knowledge was found, Keepers and their Firsts translated it, and added it carefully to the pool of stored knowledge that the Clans kept alive.

_:It's a risky business, this,:_ Merrill admitted to herself.

The spell itself was... incomplete, she suspected. The scroll she had learned it from was a copy of a copy of a copy, with inserted notes (read, speculations) by the scholars who had researched the original spell written with the Ancient Elvhen characters. The copying process had crossed four language barriers over the centuries so there were likely parts of the original that had been imperfectly understood by one or more of the scholars who had written about it. Not to mention, that often there were words and concepts that did not translate well, especially from the writing system of Ancient Elvhen (which was very very different from any modern or even older equivalent in the languages and writing systems used across the face of Thedas). Fortunately for Merrill, the manuscript she had obtained had been written by a "purist" who had endeavored to include as much of the original tract in ancient Elvhen as possible. Many of the original Elvhen characters had been preserved, and for a First to a Keeper, the ancient Elvhen characters left in were enough to get a real sense of the spell's _true_ shape and purpose.

The scholars who had written about it had _thought_ that the spell was an Elven variation of a Harrowing ritual; The rite of passage used in the Circle of Magi to create a proving ground for a young potential mage to face down a demon in a special "pocket" of the Fade and triumph over it, thus proving that he or she was resistant to the temptations of demons. They were not entirely incorrect, but they were all a lot farther off the mark than they'd thought they had been. The Aku'zhan ritual was a ritual for facing down a demon certainly, it summoned the creature into a "bubble" in reality that was made of half-material realm and half-fade realm, inside a massively powerful containment circle. Upon entry, the mage casting the ritual acted as a gatekeeper for the intermediate world, cutting the demon off from its source of power in the Beyond, but also denying it a physical foothold in the material world. The demon would be locked into a contest of wills, its magical strength truncated by an inability to access its full power while hostless and outside of the Fade. It was a way to bring a powerful demon down to the the level of a mortal mage so that it could be truly and completely defeated, not just sealed or banished. All that mattered within the circle was whose will was stronger. If the mage won, the demon submitted to his or her superior will; no deal, no bargains, no compromises. If the demon won... well, it got what demons always wanted.

_:If that should happen, the spell has failsafe.:_

The Aku'zhan ritual was a way to destroy a demon, even in defeat. If a mage's will should prove inadequate to the task, the demon would take over the mage's body as a host. However, the spell would bind that demon into the mortal form it had taken over and as soon as it tried to cross the containment barrier, the spell would shift into the tehn'shii ritual. The demon would be destroyed, burned away by starfire.

_:Of course, so will I, but as Varric says, "you pays your money and takes your chances,":_ Merrill thought, trying to jolly herself out of the case of nerves she was developing at the sight of the caves mouth looming before her.

For Merrill this was about more than just the responsibility she had to set things right, it was even about more than protecting her Clan, she needed to know for herself, deep down, that despite all that had gone before she was still strong inside and would not fall prey to demons. She needed to be able to trust _herself_, or her magic would forever seem to her like it seemed to all outsiders who couldn't resonate with the Beyond, like a dangerous thing that would eventually turn on her. She needed to reclaim her _certainty_. She knew that while the demon still had a pact outstanding with her, there would always be the danger of its subtle influence on her, she must destroy all trace of it within her, burn it out root and stem and branch if she was to continue as a mage. If it came down to it, Merrill would rather be destroyed without a trace by starfire than allow her Clan to be harmed by a demon. This was her task, her mission, her duty.

_:I will win against this demon, one way or the other,:_ she promised herself and with a final deep breath, crossed the threshold and into the gloom of the cavern.

Pride's End was a cave that was both like and unlike the many, many, _many_ other such specimens she'd investigated with Hawke on his adventures. It was cave certainly, but there the similarities ended. It had the feel more of the cathedrals built and used by the cult of the Maker, a place of vast enclosed spaces. The dark, murky aura of taint however put paid to any comparisons to holy places; it was the precise opposite of holy. The feeling of Presence was like a creature that lived and slept and drew breath within the room and Merrill had to refrain from habitually knocking and requesting entry.

It was here alright, she could _feel_ the demon waiting for her, sense its private elation at what it surely perceived as its imminent victory as Merrill unhitched the cart from the Halla and with a final pat of thanks for helping her bear her burden up the mountainside, gestured that they should go and leave her to face her ordeal alone. The faithful beasts left with obvious reluctance and with a great many backward glances, but Merrill was firm, she would not have them harmed. Merrill pulled the cart with the mirror loaded on it to the blood-stained altar at the center of the room. So far as she knew the last blood to be spilt there had been her own.

She took a deep, bracing breath, and pulled out her chalk, positioning the mirror so that it faced back at her, she circled it in one carefully drawn twisting knotwork pattern then she drew another circle, not around it but in front of it, the outer lines touching breifly on one edge. Then around both circles she drew three more concentric rings, between each ring another complex knotwork pattern, with ancient characters for the spell itself interwoven into the knotworks, muttering the words to the spell in Ancient Elvhen.

An hour later Merrill sat back and reviewed her handiwork, pleased that the diagrams had turned out quite neatly. She hadn't underwent any ritual baths or meditation and cleansing rituals to prepare, but she was as ready as she was ever going to be.

_:I'm more ready for this than for anything else in my life,:_ she thought. _:And it's not a matter of should or want, it is a matter of must and will. This is my path, my choice, and if need be, my sacrifice.:_

There was a calm, a stillness that came when the decision was made. The world and all of it whirling chaos had settled into a single calm and unwavering conviction, like the eye in the center of a storm. In that stillness there existed no doubt, no fear... only resolve.


	12. Chapter 12

So of course the time when they really want to be someplace in a hurry is the time when every bandit, slaver, dragon and tal'vashoth decide they're going to come out of the woodwork and make nuisances of themselves. Fenris took an especially vicious pleasure in ridding one particularly nasty slaver of his heart both in recompense for the crime of being a slaver and for getting in his way when there was someplace else he wanted to be.

The journey had started out slower than they would have liked. They geared up quickly enough and set out but just as they had been about to escape the city, who should be along their path than a novitiate of the Chantry begging for aid on behalf of another novitiate who's family had found themselves in a bind. Even if Sebastion hadn't been in their little group, Hawke would still have taken the request for aid because that was the sort of person he was. He could be sarcastic and irreverent, but when it came down to it, he helped people. Tracking down the two lost children had eaten up a few hours and it was mid afternoon before they had gotten started.

_:We got started, and then the __**real**__ fun began,:_ Fenris thought dryly as he joined his companions on the quick-march along the sand that was slowly turning to rock as they grew nearer the area of the Sundermount (though it was still several hours away even if they were not interrupted).

The Wounded Coast had been its usual rats warren of trouble. There had been no less than three independent groups of slavers, one of which had been smuggling Lowtown children out through the coast. Of course they'd had to make certain of an escort, fortunately there had been a handy group of Templars searching for Apostates that had been prevailed upon to take the children back to their families.

_:Who probably sold them into slavery in the first place,:_ Fenris thought a little cynically.

Much has he had heard of the family unit being for the protection of a child, the many bond-children sold in the markets for a pittance to pay off a mother or fathers gambling debts or drug habits had proved otherwise in his eyes. He knew Hawke thought that they'd saved those poor children's lives, but Fenris thought that they'd just enabled the family to turn around and sell them again.

_:At least the bandits are one scourge that won't persist,:_ he thought.

The bandits must have been holding some kind of bandit equivalent to a Dalish Arlethvenn because they were out in force, in droves, in _numbers_; one set of which was in a convoy. They'd only come across one set of Tal-vashoth, and for him, one was _enough_. It was at times like those when would have he preferred that they'd had the witch along with them... say what he might about her blood-path leanings, there was no denying she could bring the _fire_ in a battle (as well as lightning, stone, tangling vines, and debilitating visions of horror) and Qunari were weak to offensive magic. Anders could cast lightning well enough but primarily specialized in spells that healed and boosted the abilities of the other members of the party. Still, between them all, they'd managed well enough, but all the side-tracks and diversions (not to mention the time it took to loot the bodies) meant that they would probably have to hole up themselves somewhere that night and continue on their way in the morning.

"This place should be good enough," Hawke decided, picking a small cavelet carved out of the rock by wind and water and well above the high tide mark. The Wounded Coast was positively lousy with caves. The four of them wasted no time in gathering driftwood, Sebastion brought down three pheasants with his bow for dinner and Anders set wards over the entrance of the cave so they could all sleep well that night and not worry about watches.

"So, you and Isabella," Anders said to Hawke as they plucked the feathers off the birds. "If you have any... er, _troubles_, come see me in my clinic before I open, please, it's likely to be embarrassing enough as it is."

"We have something for that already, but thanks my friend," Hawke said cheerfully.

"How's that working out for you by the way?" the mage asked curiously.

Fenris tried not to huff in impatience. The little twit could be conjuring demons as they spoke and these three men wanted to gossip like housewives!

"She's a skittish one," Hawke replied with a small sigh.

"Skittish?" Anders said, rightly sounding surprised. "From everything I've heard, skittish was never something I would equate with our dear shipless captain."

"Oh, it's not getting her into bed that's the issue, it's keeping her in it," Hawke replied. "She's lusty enough, but slow to offer her love and affection or endanger her heart. Keeps it back, y'know?"

"Hmm," Sebastion nodded, looking sympathetically at his friend. "I'd figured she'd be as much, that's why it sort of puzzles me that you chose her, Hawke. I would have thought you'd try for Merrill, she's a good girl, aside of the blood mage thing. The sort that a man builds a life with, if he's free to do so."

Fenris liked the conversation less and less as it wore on, but couldn't rightly say anything about it since they were working as they talked and he hadn't really been invited to participate in the gossip session.

"You sound like you've given this some thought," Hawke replied with a wide, teasing smile.

That smile was the same one Isabella got when she found something interesting enough to warrant making a profit off from, or at least find amusing.

"What? No!" the chantry brother denied quickly and vehemently. "She's... well, not to put too fine a point on it but there would be several objections to it, not the least of which is that I'm a sworn brother to the chantry and she's a devout, well, _heathen_. She's a perfectly nice girl, don't get me wrong, but I belong to the Maker and Andraste, I could never be with someone who worshiped false idols."

"A pity that," Hawke agreed. "Sad thing is, I'm pretty sure she feels the same way about most of us here. That and she's all about the preservation of her precious Elvhen heritage, if she were to pick a human she'd probably be a bit reluctant about it."

"That reminds me," Sebastion said. "Fenris, have you tried talking her out of her cult-worship? Merrill should have a place at the Maker's side, but I'm sure she won't listen to me seeing as I'm not her kind, maybe she'll listen to you?"

"Where in this world would you come up with such an idea?" Fenris replied a trifle scornfully. "The witch listens to no-one, least of all me. And leave me out of your evangelism, it's bad enough the mage won't stop proselytizing at every opportunity."

"Is it wrong to think that all people have the right to be free, regardless of whatever gifts they were given at birth?" Anders replied readily.

"Only if that freedom you want so badly doesn't result in demons and abominations popping up out of the ground at the drop of a copper," Fenris scoffed.

"Oh, knock it off you two," Hawke grumbled, turning the birds on the spit. "You're both right in your separate ways, so leave off."

Fenris and Anders both looked like they would have liked to keep arguing, but in the interests of a quieter evening (and in not pissing Hawke off) they let the argument die.

"And back to your original question," Hawke said, with a wry smile. "I'm not saying I didn't consider making a play for her, she's a very lovely-looking young woman. She's kind, and sweet, and giving, seems the sort who could make a man happy for all of his days. But... there's her obsession with that mirror, and she's a mage and an elf, and there's my mother's feelings to consider. Now if I were in love with her, none of that would matter of course, but it just didn't happen that way."

"Instead, you want the hard sell with the fear of commitment. Masochist," Anders replied.

Hawke chuckled ruefully.

"You may have me there, Anders," he said. "Maybe if I get really lucky I can convince Bels to try a threesome!"

Fenris, unaccountably, scowled in his direction. Oh, he'd seen some bedroom acrobatics in the Tevinter Imperium that he was sure would make even Isabella blush, so it wasn't like the idea of a threesome was particularly shocking to him. Orgies were almost the norm rather than the exception among the high class, and many of the wealthy had as many bedroom slaves and concubines as they had houseworkers (and a good number who pulled double-duty). Now, that wasn't to say that magisters didn't marry; they married mage bloodlines and gave lip-service to the "one man one woman" rule of Holy Writ just like nearly every other aspect of holy writ. The women involved in these, even the willing ones, were often treated as chattel, mere vessels for the mage's seed and instruments for their pleasure.

His hand instinctively twitched toward his sword. He would kill any who treated her in that manner, regardless of who they were. The instinct took him by surprise. He considered Hawke to be a friend of greater importance than the witch, she was an encumbrance to be suffered while in Hawke's company, but his reaction to the idea that she would be taken as another lover, one of lesser status, had been a flash of protective fury. Protective, or was it possessive? Neither option made any sense at all to him.

"Then I'd be expecting you both for penance the morning after," Sebastion chided mildly.

"Oh I know the lass deserves better than that Brother, it was merely a jest," Hawke replied with a placating gesture. "I would not let Merrill settle on any man who would treat her so, and I wouldn't treat her that way myself. Besides, Bels would have my hide for the suggestion, you know how she dotes on Merrill."

The conversation drifted after that, and Fenris didn't really pay it much heed, his thoughts were distracted by his own reaction to the subject of one of their band taking the young elvhen mage as his lover. He'd always thought that he didn't care one way or the other about the witch, or if he did have any thought toward her, it was one of censure and dislike. His internal reaction to the conversation would seem to suggest otherwise. If he truly didn't care about her one way or the other, then he would not have reacted with such protectiveness. He refused to even entertain the notion of possessiveness, for it was utterly and in all ways inconceivable. He had not ever wanted any claim on her, the less he had to do with her, the happier it made him.

_:But that doesn't explain this feeling of urgency I feel,:_ Fenris thought, his spirit disquieted.

All day long there had been a feeling of hurry, hurry hurry in the back of his mind, a sort of quiet desperation to be always moving, to get to someplace before he was too late. Even right at that moment, if he had not been encumbered with his comrades he would have been rushing swiftly to the east, toward the Sundermount. He could feel the direction he needed to be going like a constant niggling worry in the back of his mind. It was a tension that mounted the longer he remained in one place, causing him to...

"Do you always pace like that?" Anders asked him.

"Is there some other way you wish me to pace, mage?" he shot back irritatedly.

"I set wards on the camp," he replied. "There's no need for you to stand guard."

"And I shall trust your precious magic just as soon as the sun rises in the west. Until that day, leave be."

"Suit yourself, but don't stay up all night. You're our heavy hitter, and if you're tired from lack of sleep, I'll have to pull double duty."

"Your concern overwhelms me," Fenris said, his tone implying otherwise.

Anders leaned back against his travel pouch and pulled his robe over him like a blanket to go to sleep and Fenris resumed his thoughts from where they'd been interrupted.

_:It's not natural, this concern, it can't be,:_ he thought. _:But I have no other explanation for it.:_

If he thought about it, he could even sort of pin-point where it had begun. The other day he'd checked on the mage after she had fallen in a scuffle between their party and some slavers. It had been an ordinary enough gesture, and ordinary sort of day for him, but then when she opened her eyes and looked up at him it felt as though the world had suddenly shifted. His whole being had buzzed awareness, a feeling like a thunderclap reverberated throughout him and the world had seemed to fade to grey for a moment. There was one spot of living color brilliant and blazing as a sunrise; her face. Her eyes had been a green so intense it was impossible to describe and he had felt drawn to her, a sudden awareness, not quite a desire but just a feeling of connection. And then the moment had passed, or at least the connection had been disrupted, for Merrill's eyes had widened as if in dismay and she'd scrambled back away from him as if he'd suddenly sprouted demonic features and tried to bite her.

_:Wait... it's not just me then,:_ Fenris realized suddenly, the review of his memory supplying him with information he had overlooked in his present distracted state.

The entire time he'd been experiencing the restlessness and the strange dreams, he'd assumed that it was either something wrong with _him_ personally, or that the witches blood magic was finally becoming what he had always known it would be; a force used to supplant the will and control others. This latest bit of information suggested that whatever was going on had _her_ spooked too.

_:And there was also that time I took her home,:_ he thought.

His actions had been justified by his logic, but he knew deep down that it wasn't really concern about Merrill's inability to control her magic while inebriated that had prompted him to wrap her in a cloak and carry her back to her home like a Chasind war-prize. He simply hadn't liked the way the other males in the establishment had been gawking at her in that damned Rivani handkerchief masquerading as a dress, with her skin on display for anyone to look at and some assholes seeming to think that if it was there they were welcome to touch...

_:What the-?:_ Fenris was brought up short as his lyrium markings reacted to the sudden, slightly murderous shift in his emotions as thoughts of what he would have done to anyone foolish enough to lay hands on that pale skin formed in his mind. Moon-pale lines stood out on the dark bronze of his own skin, a message telling him more clearly than anything else, that whatever he might have previously thought about how much he didn't care about the situation, he cared. He cared more than he was willing to admit even to himself.

_:Mind back on track fool,:_ he reprimanded himself, bottling up the emotions and setting them aside so that he could think clearly.

_:There was something else important about that night, what was it?:_

He mentally skipped over the trip back to her place, choosing instead to focus on reviewing what was said between them, for his instincts told him that there was the important bit of information that was nagging at him.

_:The favor!:_ he realized a moment later. _:That's right, she went out of her way to ask me to promise not to touch her.:_

At the time he'd been both surprised and more than a little affronted. In the years they had been around each other on and off throughout Hawke's adventures physical contact had never been part of their interactions. On the rare occasions when he'd _had_ to be close to her, he'd assiduously avoided any sort of contact (for which Anders and Hawke both teased him about being afraid of "mage cooties"). Her request had certainly pricked his pride more than a little. He could understand himself wishing to treat the mage like a contagious disease, but Merrill had never given any indication that she felt an aversion to him.

_:What if it wasn't an aversion, but something __**else**__?:_ he wondered. _:She said something about being "better safe than sorry," and "just a precaution." That tells me with certainty that there is something to be concerned about and it's not just my imagination. And if there is something to be concerned about, she's __**keeping**__ it from me!:_

He couldn't imagine what it might be, not a disease of any sort; they had Anders for that sort of thing. It couldn't be Taint, that kind of thing was not something that could be hidden.

_:It has to be something magical in nature,:_ he thought._ :Something she either cannot or will not discuss.:_

For all he knew it could be some kind of Dalish societal tabboo. Then hard on the heels of that thought came another one, an interesting one.

_:Maybe that mysterious something is the explanation for her odd behavior lately.:_

Granted, the witch was always a little bit odd, so shy and awkward, like a mousy little scholar that doesn't get out of her cubby full of books to interact with the normal world very often and so doesn't understand how people interact, or when someone is joking with her. But suddenly turning her back on her chosen path, a path she followed stubbornly despite everything that everyone around her warned her about; her mentors, her peers, even the evidence of her own eyes? A path she had given up her people and her way of life and everything good and familiar to her to pursue? If she was stubborn enough to give up everything on the slender hope of getting good out of evil, it flew in the face of her character that she would just one day suddenly wake up and decide to change her mind. That would be like Fenris deciding that this whole "escaped slave" business was for the birds and he'd really rather just go back to his master like a good little piece of property. She was every bit as stubborn as he was and had proven so time and again.

_:But she'd have to be, naturally,:_ he thought. _:A weak-willed mage is demon-fodder.:_

Controlling the elemental forces of nature took will power and internal strength, the confidence of a mage was both their protection and salvation. A mage who could not master themselves would _never_ master their power.

_:And if she can cast a spell as powerful as Anders said that Tehn'shii ritual was, then she hasn't lost herself or given into pressure; she must be as confident in her decision to change as she was in originally making the decision to use whatever means necessary fix that demon-mirror,:_ he reasoned.

Under normal circumstances, he would be damned before he spent so much time puzzling over the vagaries and motivations of the witch, but he knew in his bones that he was mixed up in this somehow, and if he didn't figure out how, he just knew he was going to find himself bit in the ass by it when he wasn't expecting it.

_:I can't even begin to puzzle out what sort of magical conundrum involves the two of us and a ban on physical contact,:_ he thought. _:Her request that we avoid touching would suggest that whatever it is, it is something she wishes to avoid.:_

If it was this mysterious condition that had woken her up to the dangers all around her in the path she had taken, Fenris couldn't think it entirely a bad thing. But if it involved him, he figured he had a right to know about it.

_:And when next we meet, I shall have it out of her,:_ he decided.

It wasn't like getting the little twit to talk was difficult, it was getting her to make sense when she did that was the trick of it.

* * *

_**I'm glad for the support for this, I know that it's unusual as far as pairings go and I'm happy with the positive feedback. Thank you for all those who have reviewed and dropped comments, they make my day (and hurry along the posting). A funny thing about this story... it's not actually the story I'd wanted to write originally. When I was playing through the game I wanted to write a redemption story that took place after the end, but I hadn't made it to the end at that point, so I started on this one to tide me over until I;d finished the game... and it got long. I have plans to write the story that is currently summarized on my hard drive but it might be a while. On a side note, did you all see that Trailer for Inqusition from E3? Youtube it if you haven't, it's gonna be awesome! Anyway, long note is long, thanks for all the wonderful support see you in few days on the next post.**_


	13. Chapter 13

v

Merrill told herself she wasn't afraid and deliberately ignored the clenching in her stomach that belied her thoughts. She had been nervous when she had first sought out the attention of the spirit because she knew it to be a powerful one. Dalish legend held that the demon had been sealed away in the last battle between the Elves of Arlathan and the Humans of the Tevinter Imperium. It was said that the ancients of Arlathan had unleashed horrors upon the world and that the haunted the mountain still, unaware that the purpose for which they had been summoned had long since passed. The most ancient and powerful of them all (and Merrill had thought, in all of her fifteen year old wisdom, that if it was old and powerful it must know what she needed to know about the Eluvian) was sealed away in a cave at the top. It was this demon, who had been so very agreeable and helpful when she had come to it asking for aid in restoring the luvian and her people's history, that she would now have to face down. When she was in that circle and locked in the contest of will against the demon, the slightest wavering in her attention and will would spell defeat for her; this demon was one of the most powerful specimens of its kind, a creature that remained sealed in this cave from the last days of the ancient war between the elves and the Tevinter Imperium.

The young Dalish mage resolutely took up her staff and placed herself inside the bare circle in front of the mirror, facing east to the rising sun. With staff in hand her body moved in place in the staff-form motions of the form Blue Dragon Greets the Dawn. Power built around her, the woven knotworks of the circles surrounding her lighting up with pale moonglow, and aurora of white specked with satr-motes of raw power flickering upwards intot he air like sparks from a fire. The ancient sigil that the pattern was formed for wrote itself into the air in complicated, precisely placed strokes. With a firm thump of her staff at the end of the pattern to ground the sign, which flared brilliant white for a moment then joined the pattern in the outer circles around herself and the eluvian, Merrill faced southward and performed the motions of the form Red Eagle Soars to the Sun. The power of the spell increased exponentially with every motion, until the air was so thick with power it felt like her staff was pushing through water. A thump to ground that part of the spell and Merrill turned to face west and performed the pattern White Tiger Holds the Storm. By then raw power was so thick around her that the air was a crushingly heavy weight, one that she had to force every movement like fighting upstream against a rushing current. Finally north, to face the mirror, performing World Snake Enwraps the Great Tortoise. When she brought the end of her staff down to ground the final sigil of the spell the world around her washed white so brilliant it was like being at the heart of a lightning strike. She felt the air around her twist and squirm inexpicably, like two rivers flowing in opposite directions trying to merge, with a great heave of her will, Merrill seized both currents, looped them through her channels and poured them both into the knotwork patterns of the spell. Two realities merged with her at its heart, the gatekeeper. The surrface of the mirror rippled.

"Spirit of the Dark Between, bound by our pact," she called firmly. "Come Forth!"

The surface of the mirror warped and shifted, looking like the surface of a pond with a stone thown into it. Through the mirror stepped a creature she had never seen before, the Spirit that Merrill had made a deal with in exchange for information had worn a pleasant seeming, looking benighn and almost elfin.

_:So it __**has**__ lied to me,:_ she thought, shaking her head at just how easily she had been fooled by appearances. _:Of course I would be more sympathetic to something that looks familiar.:_

All the more reason why she was responsible for it. All the more reason why it must be stopped there.

**"Mortal Creature,"** it growled at her, its voice pounding into her like the beat of a message drum. **"Have you come to honor our agreement, at last? Speak, all the knowledge you desire shall be yours."**

"The terms of our agreement are null and void, Demon," Merrill said firmly. "It was precisely stipulated that neither by word or deed or dark leaning would you attempt to hold sway over my thoughts and ations. I have discovered your influence wrapping my will in magical restraints. I have come to end this."

**"Foolish child,"** the spirit replied, sounding amused rather than nervous.** "Do you think that you can best me? I was old before the first of your kind built thier home in Arthalan, mighty before your kin were slain in the red fields of Tedreill."**

"And yet, your mightiness, you have remained bound in this cave for centuries," Merrill pointed out, reminding both it and herself of this fact.

_"A minor oversight, brought on by hubris, one I shall not repeat here,"_ it said. _"Remove your barrier weak mage, and let me pass into this world once more. You are not capable of standing against me."_

Merrill shoved at the spell, locking the cirlces in place and forcing the demon the rest of the way out of the mirror and into the world. it had physical form, but was cut off from its place of power, here in the circle, she was gatekeeper, her power reigned.

"The only way you're getting out, is through me," Merrill said. "I am the Keeper of this place, the watcher at the gate. I stand on the bridge and none may pass. It is you who shall give way to me!"

Merrill brought her staff before her, forcused her will into its tip and pointed at the demon before her. She brought her eyes up to meet the shifting, blazing impossible depths of the demon's eyes. She had seen the misty skyfire tangled with coruscating colors and glittering with stars in the far north at winter time, and the eyes of a demon with just as beautiful, just as cold, just as remote and just as mesmerizing as that beauty in the night. She met its gaze, pushing out with her will, forcing a connection into place. With a final shove, she felt their gazes lock and hold, their wills clashing like two great rushing rivers meeting head on. There was no spell or excersize that would make lesser or greater the force of the magic it brought to bear on her and she on it, it was pure will and nothing else. Merrill would stand her ground here, for the moment she wavered it would push through. She was ready, and she would not fail. Her staff thumped downward once, sealing the spell as she invoked the final command, a resolution, a defiance.

"Kamae'te... Soh!"

Notes: _**The chapters that follow are the ones I basically wrote the whole fic for and they are my favorites so far. I hope you all enjoy them as much as I enjoyed writing them. Thanks to all those who had dropped kudos and sent reveiws my way. As for the fact that we're thirteen chapters in and have nary a smidgen of any romance yet, I can only say that writing an in-character Fenris and Merrill romance is tricky. I think in this case the soulbond is a necessity because I can't imagine there being any romance between the two of them any other way without the words kicking and screaming being involved. ^_^**_

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	14. Chapter 14

If Fenris had thought his previous two nights had been restless, they were _nothing_ compared to the near-nonexistent sleep he'd gotten in the cave that night. He had done nothing but toss and turn all night, an incredible and indescribable pressure weighing on his mind and soul. It had felt like some great creature had held him in an implacable grip, staring hungrily at him and bringing him slowly, slowly, slowly closer, then he'd struggle free, beating the creature back only to be surrounded again. At other times in the night it had felt as though he were pushing against an incredible weight, like standing under a powerful waterfall and trying to remain on his feet despite the punishing weight of the water pounding on him. Always he was holding his ground, standing firm against some powerful nameless force, trying to force him downward, force him to bow his head, force him to submit.

"We've dallied here long enough," Fenris snarled, already packed and ready to go as soon as the first sign of grey had edged the horizon.

"Andraste's swete mehrcy mon," the Starkhaven rogue said, his brogue stronger when he was half asleep. "D'yeh ken it's not even dawn yet?"

"Yes, at least wait until there's light to see by," Anders seconded.

"Do as you like," he growled, not willing to wait a single instant more.

He'd had to put up with that awful, maddening pulling feeling, driving him onward, driving him _mad_, all night long. He needed to be there. He could speak with the witch about whatever the hell it was that was doing this to him, and if need be, drag her before her Keeper and force her to undo it. But that would come after he'd gotten there. It was time to go!

"You may catch up to me."

"We haven't even eaten breakfast yet," Hawke yawned. "I make it a rule never to fight on an empty stomach, and so should you, you have less stamina that way."

Since the man was passing around dried meal rations and not trying to build up the fire to waste time cooking something, Fenris subsided reluctantly.

"We could be walking and eating these," was all he said.

The other three blinked blearily at him.

"Are you alright?" Sebastion inquired. "You look..."

"Like you've been wrestling with darkspawn all night and it's only _improved_ your looks," Anders supplied.

"Haven't been sleeping," he grumbled. "Now can we be off?"

"Oh sure, daylight's wasting," Hawke said lightly. "Except that... no, the sun isn't even in the sky yet."

Fortunately for his continued peace of mind, his companions cleared the cave as they ate and they were indeed off as dawn lightened the sky. A soft mist shrouded the ground and the mage complained about the chill dew on the edge of his longcoat but Fenris ignored him. Hawke seemed willing to respect that Fenris wished to be on their way as quickly as possible and did not slow their pace. They ambushed a camp of slavers as the sun cleared the horizon and the day began, which to Fenris' mind was reward enough for the early rising, getting the jump on these sorts was always more satisfying than stumbling into an armed ambush.

An hour later they stumbled across a cave, out of which a horde of those awful giant spiders came crawling. He was not in the mood to put up with delays that day, and his lyrium responded to his sense of urgency by giving an extra boost to his strength and speed, enabling him to dispatch the vermin in mere minutes, a personal best for him.

"Andraste's mercy, Fenris," Sebastion remarked as he speared the last one dead with the tip of his sword.

"You didn't leave any for me," Hawke agreed.

"We're wasting time," he said impatiently.

"A moment, I've found a stack of crates over here," the rogue replied.

"It's just going to have moldy useless clothes and bit of string," Fenris huffed.

Granted, there were times when it yielded good results, but Hawke's obsession with investigating every half-empty crate and barrel could be _beyond_ tedious.

"Hey look, a gauntlet!" he said triumphantly. "And here's the other one... well, most of it anyway. It's a bit chewed around the edges but..."

Fenris eyed the find and mentally assessed its worth at sixteen coppers, if that.

"Yes, yes, you can get yourself a loaf of bread and a dozen eggs," he growled. "The mountain is that way."

He stomped off, leaving his comrades to catch up.

"Is it just me, or does he seem extra cranky this morning?" Fenris heard Anders remark behind him.

The rest of the morning passed mostly without incident, and the foursome jogged into the camp at mid-morning to discover it a hive of activity. There were twice as many aravells as there usually were, the colors flying from their tops and sides on the sails of the landships an indigo with white trim instead of the red of Sabrae Clan. There were more elves, a lot more elves, and they were running about greeting each other. Fenris was conscious of even more curious stares in his direction, and the back of his neck itched in awareness at the feeling of arrows being pointed in the direction of him and his comrades.

"Andaran'antishan," Keeper Marethari greeted.

She was knelt on the ground before a fire, another older-looking elf with her. His lyrium markings warned him of the latent power in those two, resonating slightly with the feel of the Fade around them. Another mage then.

"And to you, Keeper Maraethari," Hawke greeted cheerfully. "Merrill said she was coming out for a visit and she didn't ask us to come along. My feelings are hurt. We thought we'd just drop by and..."

Fenris, not much for social niceties even on a good day, dispensed with the small talk and shoved past them, the insistent ephemeral _pull_ dragging harder at him now that he was so close. They could stay and chit chat all they liked, there was someplace else he needed to be right then.

"Where is he going? Fenris? Hey!" the rogue questioned.

Fenris paused, and glared impatiently over at them for the delay.

"Merrill has gone back to the place where it all began, to end the matter," said Keeper Marethari. "In this I cannot interfere, and dare not send any of my Clan into danger."

Hawke probably heard the unspoken plea from the poor old elvhen woman. Fenris felt a small pang of pity for the older woman for having to love and care so much for such a self-centered little brat.

_:Not self-centered,:_ honesty forced him to reassess. _:She gave up her place in her Clan and her home for what she feels is the greater good though the people she sacrifices for will not thank her for it. So not self centered, but certainly daft. And dense as a stone. And blind. And foolish. And-:_ He cut himself off. Nevermind.

"If you're going Shem," a young man with lithe, delicate features characteristic of all their people but who also looked vaguely familiar in a way that Fenris couldn't quite place. "I'll be after goin' wi' yeh."

"And you are?" Hawke questioned.

"Dermayen of Alerion Clan, Second to Keeper Tenuviel," the young man said proudly.

_:Ah, great, another mage. Just what we needed.:_

"And what's your stake in this, as though I need to ask," Hawke queried. "I've siblings myself, so I see the resemblance, though you two do look different."

"Merrill takes after Mum," the young man said, with a slightly rueful look.

Fenris shot the two another impatient look.

"Come along if you're going," he growled. "But slow us down and we leave you."

He'd had enough with the niceties, he made for the edge of camp where the mountain awaited.

"Is he always like this?" the elf-mage questioned aloud.

"Oh no," Anders assured him as they set out. "Often, he's worse."

The climb up the mountain was unpleasant. There were demons and apparitions and shades out in full force. The very stones beneath his feet seemed to vibrate in resonance with powerful magic and his lyrium markings would not stay quiet. There was something big and strange happening. Something powerful. The Guardians were a nuisance, but powerful, even the nagging sense of urgency that seemed to give him an extra strength born of impatience wasn't enough for him to make quick work of them. At last the mouth of the cave yawned before them and Fenris was about to storm through, when the elf-mage caught his shoulder and stopped him. On instinct, unwilling to pause now that he was so near, Fenris markings flared to life and he phased right through the boys restraining hand.

Fenris whipped around, face in a snarl at any attempt to thwart him from his goal, and hoisted the boy up into the air by his throat, points of his gauntlets digging into either side of his tender young neck.

"Touch me again, mage," he snarled. "And it will be the last thing you do."

"Just trying to warn you about the spell," the boy gasped.

Fenris dropped him and attuned to his markings a little more, belatedly sensing the edges of the magical array.

"It's powerful, and well done," the boy said as he gasped for breath. "A barrier to keep inimical magic from getting out, as such, it might be too risky for us to try to get through it. I recommend we- Hey!"

Fenris attuned more deeply to his markings, phasing himself into that half-state between the physical world and the Fade, the state that enabled him to temporarily side-step the laws of the material world and of magic for a time. The twisting knotwork net of the spell, which would ordinarily have been strong enough to bar anything and everything from crossing it, felt no more substantial than cobwebs to him as he stepped across the barrier into the cave.

"Is she there, Fenris?" Hawke called in, clearly being barred from the cave by the spell.

The elf stepped around the barrier wall and peered into the central cavern. The sight that greeted him was... memorable. The place was lit up with a brilliant white light edged with rainbow iridescence. Star-motes of power, trailing smears of aurora-fire behind them, floated in the air, weaving themselves in intricate knotwork patterns around and within a set of complex arcane characters written in lightning-bright light in the air. At the center of it all stood Merrill, a fiery aura of emerald blazed out from her skin as she held the gaze of a demon.

_:__**Such**__ a demon!:_ Fenris thought in amazement.

It's body was thicker than a vehendhal tree that stood in the center of the alienage and it glowed a fiery orange yellow like the river of fire at the depths of the deep roads. This was no puny desire demon, content to snack on the common every day lusts of mortals, no sloth demon without will or driving ambition that attracted more of the same. It was higher-level and there was absolutely no mistaking it. It radiated power the same way a fire gave off light and heat. The force of its power was a crushing weight, as suffocating and relentless as the noon sun in the desert, as weighty as the root of a mountain. The demon towered over her, its pitiless gaze that of a hunter with a mouse under its paws, but Fenris got the feeling it was restrained. Though it blazed with unholy power, it struggled, growling and snapping like a mabari hound at the end of its chain in the presence of an enemy. Merrill stared upwards at it, defiant and firm, and stood her ground. Fenris knew instinctively that it was a contest of wills, they were locked in struggle against one another neither able to look away or move for the first one to break the gaze acknowledged defeat.

"Fenris," Hawke called again.

"She's here," Fenris replied, softening his voice for fear of breaking her concentration. "And so is the demon."

"What does it look like?" Anders asked.

"It doesn't matter, I can tell you precisely what it is," the elven mage interrupted and told the tale of a demon of immense and ancient power, one that he had heard of before. Fenris added his own knowledge of the subject, then went on to describe what was going on. To which the boy replied

"I've never heard of such a spell, is it some kind of Shemlen spell?"

"I've not seen such," Fenris replied.

"How long has she been fighting it?" Hawke questioned.

Fenris looked more closely at Merrill, past the lines of the spell. Her muscles were shaking and she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat as though fevered.

"My guess would be since yesterday," Fenris replied.

"Not good," the boy replied, a bit unnecessarily. "No matter how powerful the mage is, unlike a demon, that mage would be subject to physical limitations."

"She has to eat sometime," hawke agreed.

"Yes," the boy agreed. "It's just going to wait her out. She may have a will to match it, but even if she does, her body can't hold out forever."

"Fenris," hawke called over to him. "It seems you can phase through magical barriers, see what you can't do about encouraging that demon to shake a leg, hm?"

"Already on it," Fenris said, pulling out his greatsword and crossing the room.

He attuned to his markings again, this close to Merrill it seemed as though the markings on his skin and his ability to access and utilize them was somehow greater than it usually was. His ability to attune himself to his markings never came outside of the heat of battle, but here he had done so almost without consciously thinking of it and it was as easy for him as shrugging on a coat.

_:Another anomaly we shall discuss when this is all over with,:_ he promised himself. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow at th ehart of all the recent anomalies lately.

He walked over to the barrier, expecting to cross it as easily as he had the other, but found that he was repelled. He pushed a hand against it and the light flared a little, as if in warning, and when he added a little more strength to the push, the spell pushed back. He saw Merrill twitch and the demon leaned forward eagerly, appearing thrilled at the possibility of outward assistance. The green aura surrounding Merrill flared with emerald fire for a moment and the demon struggled but still could not look away. Merrill's face hardened in concentration.

_:Right. I see. No distractions or the demon eats her.:_

That was when the stone floor of the cave around him began to warp. His lyrium markings throbbed in warning of dark magic, and long, tiresome experience informed him that nasty things were about to come crawling out from the ground. Sure enough, a moment later, rotted skeletal remains clamored up from their ancient graves and tottered on unsteady (some of them missing) limbs. Their hollow dead gazes staring hungrily at him.

_:Wights. Why is it always wights?:_ he thought with a sigh.

If he couldn't take down a demon, he supposed he'd settle for some undead.

"Hang on Fenris!" Hawke called. "Anders and the kid have nearly unlocked the barrier."

"I _may_ be generous and save some for you," he called back, wading into the shrieking horde and laying about with his greatsword.

It was a good way to work off frustration, he was still feeling restless and irritable from the night previous, and he had the nagging suspicion that the quality of his dreams may have been an echo of Merrill's little epic struggle with the demon, if so, then he owed her a sleepless night or two. Perhaps he'd have the drunken bard at the Hanged Man stay out all night under her windowsill and sing every song he knew off key. That would serve her.

_:Not good enough,:_ he decided as he cracked another skull. _:It's too nice.:_

Well he'd think of something. He mulled it over with half of his thoughts while he reaped the undead horde in droves, battle-lust singing through his veins echoed by the throbbing buzz of lyrium pulsing in his skin. Bones shattered to powder at the blunt edge of his blade sweeping the hideous creations of demon magic back to the void where they belonged. he kept one eye on the demon in the center of the room and felt a small spike of primal satisfaction at the sight of Merrill's green fire blazing up a little stronger and the demon-fire aura dimming ever so slightly. The sight galvanized him into crushing greater numbers of his foes, the thought that maybe she could draw the strength she needed to finally crush the demons will with her own if she sensed that she was not fighting alone crossed his mind. After all, he had fought alone for so very long, but he found that he was stronger and could access even more of his strange power when he had comrades beside him in battle. It would perhaps be the same for the witch.

"Venhedis, you're a lot of trouble!" he growled at the unresponsive form locked in a battle of her own across the cave.

The barrier spell across the door of the cave gave way and Hawke rushed into battle beside him, helping him to herd the darklings into a mob at the center. The elf-boy rained down bolt after sizzling bolt of lightning on the mob accompanied by the occasional crushing volley of stones while Anders kept everyone's injuries healed up and Sebastion easily picked off the long-range stragglers at the edges before they could catch anyone with any of their arrows. The wave of skeletons soon receded to a manageable trickle and Fenris judged they had the battle in the bag... but then the demon _howled_, a shrieking chilling sound that made every hair on Fenris' body stand on end.

_:And thus, there are more of them...:_ he grumbled to himself at the sight of them popping up out of the ground like daisies in springtime.

Their numbers came exponentially, flooding the area in a writhing mass of clacking bones and tattered armor. The two mages had their backs to the spell array, like a last line of defense while Fenris kept their bonerotted attention on him. With his lyrium markings surging with a strange, uncanny strength, he shrugged off what would normally have been distracting, if not debilitating, blows as though they were nothing more harmful than raindrops. Hawke took advantage of the distraction Fenris provided to duck and weave in and out of the battlefield, taking down enemies with pinpoint accuracy. Sebastion kept the sideliners busy. With the added magical kick provided by the surprisingly efficient (though in Fenris' opinion not nearly as powerful and experienced) young elvhen mage, they were keeping things under control.

_:Which only means that things are going to go badly, quickly,:_ he thought to himself.

The demon in a face-off with Merrill, did not disappoint. It let out another one of its stone-quivering howls, and it felt like the very bones of the mountain shivered in response. The ground opened up and out of the stone rose a huge, terrible _thing_ that Fenris has seen the likes of only one time.

His old master, Danarius, had once worked with a Circle of blood mages to bring about a ghastly creation so terrible that they had not even had a name for it. The lives of three hundred slaves had been sacrificed to create it, and when it had been completed it had been so hideous and so powerful that not even the magisters had wanted anything to do with it. Flesh and blood and bone had merged in sickening ways, the stench of rot and dark decay had surrounded it in a cloud causing even the hardiest blood mage to retch it revulsion. The creature before them was an ancient bones equivalent to that thing. A construction of the bodies of fallen wights, fleshed in the tattered remains of their rotten corpses and powered by dark sorcery.

"Creators preserve us!" the boy-mage gasped. "What... what _is_ that thing?"

"A creature so base and terrible that it has no name," Fenris replied.

"And jes' what would that be sayin' about that thing tha's in there with our Merrill that it calls that creature up like a noble summons a servant?" Sebastion remarked.

"There's always a bigger fish, or in this case, soul-sucking corpse-eater from the furthest reaches of the Void," Anders said lightly. "And as for what it says about the demon in there with Merrill that it can summon up this thing for it's lackey, I'll _tell_ you what it means, it means we'd better hope that demon she faces doesn't get loose."

"Well the lackey's out here with us," Sebastion pointed out. "In comparison to what we've faced so far together brothers, about how powerful would you say that this lackey is?"

"Put it this way," Hawke said. "On a scale of 'mildly worrisome' to 'stomach-clenching terror' it looks like it's a 'run away screaming in horror to catch the nearest ship as far away from it as you can get.'"

"Indeed," Fenris concurred as the thing continued to rise slowly, piecing itself together as it went along. "It is a thing so horrifyingly depraved that not even the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium would unleash it upon their worst enemies, for fear of what it would become when it was through with them and went searching for more prey."

"And for Fenris to say 'not even the magisters,' you know it's bad," Hawke commented.

"It consumes the strength of its fallen enemies, growing ever more powerful the more that death surrounds it," he explained. "If it is unleashed, there is no telling how strong it could become or what it might take to stop it."

"Andraste's light guide us," Sebastion said, making the sign of the light over himself.

"Oh, more prayers... that's useful," Anders snarked by reflex.

"I don't suppose you'd know any way to defeat it then?" Hawke said hopefully to Fenris, who had been so knowledgeable thus far.

"I was present when the magisters created their version of it," Fenris replied. "It was not defeated, so much as they pulled back mid-spell and deconstructed thier work, banishing the magic that powered it back into the Fade."

"So that's a no..." Anders said.

"The only one who can get rid of it, is the one who summoned it," Fenris added.

"The demon summoned it," Dermayan pointed out. "And we can't reach the demon past the barrier spell."

"Then we'll just have to rely on Merrill to defeat the demon," Hawke said. "Once she breaks its power, this shagnasty will be destroyed. In the meantime, we'll have to keep it busy so that it doesn't tromp down the mountain and eat all the elves at the bottom as an appetizer before starting on Kirkwall for a main course."

"Way to leave the fun part to us," Fenris muttered at the unresponsive mage trying to face down a demon. He knew full well that the damnable thing couldn't actually be defeated, the only thing that they were going to do was keep it occupied by flinging themselves at it. Fenris hefted his sword, let the fun begin.

* * *

**_I love this chapter. This and the next I pretty much wrote the whole fic for so I hope you all enjoy. Huge shout-out to all who have reveiwed so well and faithfully, I love you guys. Snoweria, War 90, Kshadeslady, and Shadowsilv3r... whom I want to give a special shoutout to in congratulations on her awesome fic_**_Valasliin and Lyrium_**_ getting over one hundred reveiws and twenty chapters! If you haven't read it yet... what are you waiting for? So shoutout and congrats to Shadowsilv3r. Glad to see Snoweria dipping an oar in our little fenrill pond too. Thank you all so much for reading and liking this fic Happy Labor Day weekend!_**


	15. Chapter 15

Merrill didn't know for certain how long she had been locked in struggle with the creature. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, it felt like years. Her body shook, muscles locked to tamp down on the cold pain that burned like _fire_ as the magic of the spell flowed through her channels in an endless stream. She was the gatekeeper to the spell but she couldn't use the magic of the spell of boost her struggle, the sole power she had to take down the demon was her _will_ alone, but the power flowing through her channels nonetheless and it took its toll. She couldn't think about how long her physical body could last before it gave way, couldn't think about how fearful and mighty the demon's presence was, she couldn't think _at all_. The only thing she could do was fight with every last fiber of her being. Push against its power, stand against its might and not take one single step back.

In that half-world of will, she was the gatekeeper, she stood on the bridge between worlds and none would pass save through her. There was no retreat, no surrender.

The demon, even cut off from its place of power in the Beyond, was _still_ a mighty being to contend with. However she sensed that, being an immortal thing outside the grip of time, urgency was something of a lost concept to it. In that Merrill had the advantage; her will was honed to razor sharpness because, as a creature of time, there was a finite amount of time in which she could get things done. She was accustomed to dealing with matters immediately and finally. But her own mortality and physical presence was also a weakness, for she knew that the creature's strategy was to merely out-wait her. Merrill was resolved that this would not happen. She pushed with her will, increasing the pressure on it, and it pushed back, but every time it did it lost a little ground, perhaps a centimeter, perhaps an inch, but it was unprepared to deal with the immediacy of its surroundings and Merrill was slowly gaining ground, battle by battle.

The spell gave a little jerk of surprise that resonated through her channels suddenly. Merrill's attention was almost pulled away from her task but she managed to maintain her focus and to not loose any of the ground she had thusfar gained. Someone had just tried to interfere with the barrier spell!

_:Fenris?:_ she wondered, twitching as she sensed his nearness.

She was almost distracted by it, and the demon surged suddenly, thinking to regain the ground it had lost steadily throughout their struggle, but Merrill's attention was locked on it, and would not be swayed. She hardened her will, pushing, _pushing_. She felt the raging torrent of the demon's magic push back, and she met it, steadily, refusing to give way. She gained a tiny bit of ground.

She pushed more, and to her surprise, the demon's power slackened for a moment and Merrill's will surged forward. She pressed in harder, thinking she might have finally broken its will but knew deep down that this battle would not be that easy. Indeed, the demon let out a stone-shaking howl that seemed to resonate with the bones of the mountain beneath them. Merrill sensed rather than saw the restless crawlings of the earth. She dared not turn her attention away, but she _knew_ what it had done. It had spent a tiny moment of magic to send out a magical call that would bring out any interested inimical parties to curry favor with the demon by coming to its aid, or at least creatures that would like to rip apart any living thing nearby. Merrill was safe inside the barrier (if one could call being locked in a combat of wills with a demon being _safe_) for nothing could cross it, but Fenris and whoever else might be with him were exposed prey to whatever dark terror lurked hidden deep in the stones of this ancient battle site. She could not spare the attention and energy to so much as glance to see how many dark creatures the demon's call had summoned or how badly he was outnumbered. Her only enemy was before her.

She could sense what the demon was feeling through their magical connection. It thought that the ground she had gained would be shortly recovered because Merrill would be inevitably distracted by the plight of her friends. It thought that this was the inevitable weakness of all creatures of the physical world, that they developed bonds and feelings for each other, and that those emotions were nothing more than weaknesses for the demon to exploit.

_:You know nothing of such things, creature,:_ she thought at it, pushing her own will more firmly against the current of its will, a little of her own anger giving her a bit of extra strength. _:Do not pretend that you do. You think me weak for the bonds I share? I will show you their true strength!:_

She could sense the battle against the undead horde raging about her, and in the back corner of her mind where the bond lay latent, she could feel Fenris's bloodlust and the heady delight of battle reverberating through the latent bond between them. In turn it fed _her_ strength, bolstering her, and she shared in the joy of making their enemies fall before them. The demon would join them.

Merrill sensed the disconcertion the demon felt as it sensed that instead of weakening her resolve by distracting her, his ploy had actually made her stronger and he was loosing ground steadily to a concentrated onslaught of her will encouraged Fenris' victories. It struggled desperately to recoup the ground it had lost, ground it had thought it would regain when the mortal was distracted by the fates of her friends. Despite her rising victories, the demon was still very powerful and she could feel its power as it surged back against her will, the sudden spike in pressure making her retrench for a moment. Fortunately the ground she gave was minimal. The struggle between them resumed with renewed vigor, both sides feeling an urgency. The demon was worried about the cost that summoning its momentary distraction might have extracted without the boon that it had expected in exchange. Merrill was worried about her friends outside the array, fighting without her magic to help them, and her own weakening physical strength. They both pressed in, bending the brunt of their wills upon the other like two king stags locking horns. The air was heavy and charged with the side effect of their auras clashing like two streams of fire meeting.

_:I will not fail here, creature. For my Clan, for my friends, for my future... I will not give way!:_ she swore, pushing harder than she had ever even dreamed she might.

The demon... _weakened_. It did not waver, not enough for her to rush forward and claim her victory, but she gained another inch with a sudden feeling that as long as she held up, more would follow. She could sense the panic and desperation in the demon before her, the sudden creeping realization that in this gateway world, it was no longer a creature outside of time; that there was a _finality_ here that it had never faced before. Panic flooded it, giving it desperate strength as it knew that unless it managed to change the field, it might be defeated here. She felt its decision snap within it. It would take one last, desperate gamble. It gathered its reserves of magic and _howled_.

_:It's power cannot reach outside of the gateway world...:_ Merrill thought in puzzlement, wondering what it thought it might possibly accomplish by wasting its reserves reaching out when it could use them to press back against her.

A moment later the realization hit her. The demon did not need to reach outside, it was already _there_. Over the course of century upon century, trapped in a seal that kept it from its main source of power in the Beyond, but also sealed away from the physical world in a half-existence, the demon had been able to, imbue some of its magical essence into the very stone of the place. It had sunk it in _deep_, out of the range of detection of most ordinary magic, waiting for the day it would be needed and tainting everything that lay beneath the surface like a cantankerous infection. And now, its voice would wake up the power it had stored. It might not be under the direct command of the demon, but the demon _didn't_ _need_ it to be. It could be a separate entity and still be useful to the demon's purposes, the result would be as close as a demon would ever get to producing a child, and all it needed to do was _destroy_.

_:Fenris!:_ Merrill thought, a cold spike of fear almost, but not quite distracting her.

The demon gloated. It likely thought that it was only a matter of time before the mortal creature gave way to her own petty emotions. Only a matter of time before she was distracted, and with that would come her downfall.

_:No! I will not fail here!:_ she thought, her own feeling edged with desperation.

Her friends were counting on her. If she lost here, she lost _everything_. Her friends would be hurt, and Merrill would never have the chance to make it right with her Keeper. She'd never get the chance to show her people that she truly loved them, she'd never get the chance to show Fenris that she could be an amazing mage _and_ a good person without the blood magic. She would never again be flirted outrageously with by Hawke or teased by Isabella. Never again hear another one of Varric's amazing stories, the one's that always started with "no shit, there I was" or hear Sebastion go on and on about his precious Maker Cult. Never again hear Anders bicker with Fenris about the fate of the mages. Never get to show that grouchy mage-hater that her kind weren't so bad after all, especially now that he didn't have the excuse of blood magic to hide behind in order to end an argument. (It was one thing she really couldn't argue back against it very well, with all that evidence piled up against her and her own rather flimsy protest that it was okay if used responsibly).

"Merrill! If you can hear us," Hawke called. "Give that slimy tree-trunk the heave-ho already! This thing out here's a big shagnasty and unless you defeat that demon, we're going to get pulped by its bouncing baby bundle of horrors."

Merrill clamped down on her will as the demon used Merrill's almost-distraction to surge forward, beating her will back before she regained her metaphorical footing and held her ground against it.

She felt her friends join the battle around the baby demonic taint-spawn. Sensed Anders' magic flash and tug in the currents around her joined by the power signature of another mage she didn't recognize. She sensed the movements of Fenris, half in and half out of reality, flash around the battlefield, laying about with traumatic force at anything that looked like it might be a weakness. She sensed Sebastion holding fast, praying to his divine ones as he loosed arrow after arrow at the ghastly horror. She sensed it when the creature joined the fight in earnest, a single swing of its massive limb smacking Hawke into a wall. It called down dark fire from the abyss and Merrill heard her dear friends scream in pain. She felt the barest echo of that pain resonate through their latent bond and Merrill's heart squeezed in response. Her friends were out there, in trouble, they _needed_ her!

But she could not afford to waste her energy on sensing her friends battle.

_:And now it suddenly makes sense,:_ Merrill thought in sorrowful resolve. _:The words that Keeper Marethari once told me.:_

She had said that sometimes a Keeper's path may lie in betrayal. She had meant that as Keeper of the Ancient Lore of the Elvhen, there might come a time when her life would be counted more valuable than the lives of the Clan she protected and that she would have to accept their sacrifices on her behalf. Merrill had never been able to imagine such a thing, she had always thought that as Keeper and as a mage she would always be strong enough, powerful enough, to protect her people and thus no sacrifices on her behalf would ever be necessary. Now she understood the words. It was her _duty_, to stand here. In order to protect her people she could not turn aside from her path, not even to aid her friends when they needed her. She must turn away from their struggle, ignore them if they cried to her for help.

**_"Think about this child,"_** the demon spoke to her, shifting its form down to the small, rather harmless-looking appearance it had first used when she approached it to find out if it knew anything about how to heal an eluvian.

**_"Really think about all you're giving up. You've spent three years of your life on this. It's an ancient artifact of immense magical power, one that could give you the secrets to the ways of the ancients, restore everything that was lost and lift your people up from poverty and degradation to reclaim their rightful place. You could stop their suffering, Merrill, you could. You would be their hero, their champion... their queen."_**

Merrill ignored the words, despite the fact that a small unworthy part of her thrilled at the idea of being the queen of the Elvhen Nation. She pressed forward. The demon was talking to her, the move to negotiation meant that it was getting desperate enough to try to find a weakness, any weakness. That meant that she was stronger than it.

**_"The people would welcome you home with open arms..."_** the demon changed it's form and suddenly her Keeper was standing before her.

"Come home, da'len. We'll help all the clan's together. All you need to do is-"

"Rah!" Merrill snapped a bolt of raw anger at the demon for it's sheer temerity in trying impersonate her teacher and mother-figure causing her to make a sudden leap in their contest of wills, and gained ground. It quickly rethought its strategy and shifted back to its "harmless Spirit" form.

**_"Those shemlen out there?"_** it said.**_ "They don't care about your people, not the way you do. What do they matter? And the Tevinter... well. When has he ever not insulted you? Treated you like garbage he's too good to pick up? They'll never understand you, never truly see that everything you do, you do for love of your people. That ignorant slave doesn't understand that you fight for him as well. He scorns you for it."_**

Merrill's temper flared the instant that the demon brought Fenris into the argument. How dare it! Apparently the quasi-empathy of the gate-spell that let her sense its thoughts through the magical link that bound them to thier contest of wills worked both ways for the demon caught the source of her distemper.

**_"Oh... oh my,"_** the demon said, scenting weakness the same way a shark scented blood in the water.**_ "Touched a nerve, did I? I could help you, you know. I could help you make him see some of your more... _**_attractive_**_ qualities. A little help from me, and he'd be at your feet."_**

In reply to _that_ particular insult, Merrill pressed her will in harder, gaining ground faster. She felt a tiny part of it give way and the demon threw everything it had into a last-ditch offensive.

Suddenly Fenris was before her, reaching out to her with one clawed gauntlet, a strange sort of vulnerability in his face instead of the hardened, cynical mask he always wore. For a moment, the sight of him standing before her looking as strong and handsome as ever, and yet with a certain appealing openness in his gaze nearly undid her and she _almost_ wavered. Merrill steeled herself, hardening her heart, for the demon spoke to her in _his_ voice... which, even when she disliked him the most, always made her feel a bit weak around the knees.

"I understand, Merrill," he said softly. "I know you want to help everyone, even me. I will help you. Once we have the power of the mirror, there's nothing we couldn't do... together. We could take down the whole Tevinter Imperium, break the backs of the magisters and free our people. Just take my hand."

What the demon did not know was that it had just made its final mistake. Whether she liked it or not, Merrill was soulbonded (however latently) to Fenris. No matter how exact the likeness, or how compelling the lie, Merrill would always know the truth about her bondmate. The offer the demon made was tempting (or would have been if she didn't know it for a lie), it offered her both his acceptance of all that she was, _and_ her dream of making the world a better place for her people, particularly the ones that were still held in chains like Fenris had once been. She might have been tempted by the false Fenris, might have been tricked by him despite herself for he looked and sounded just like the real Fenris, but...

"First of all," Merrill addressed the demon for the first time. "Fenris never calls me by my name. Secondly... your time here is _over_."

Merrill gathered every last bit of her will, draining off even some of the life-force of her body and focused it into a single blazing point at the end of her staff. Merrill thrust forward, shoving against the tide of the demon's will with all of her might and raised her staff, bringing it down, hard, over the head of the not-Fenris. The demon gave a roar of pain and Merrill moved forward with her will armoring her against the force of the demon's spiritual pressure. Her own will surged forwards as the last of the demons will crumbled and its defenses were overrun, overtaking the power of the Spirit and capturing it within the metaphrical palm of her hand.

"Submit!" she commanded.

The demon struggled, flaring back at her with the last of its strength in a swamping wave that nearly knocked her back. She stood her ground, gritting her teeth and pressed in forcing it to look at her. Fenris's face looked up at her, but with a demon's alien, coruscating-colored eyes.

"Wait!" it pleaded in Fenris' voice, which just made her more angry with it, and more determined to put the perversion in its place.

Merrill brought the tip of her staff up and wrote the final character of the spell, the glyph of sealing, into the air before her in thick, firm strokes of light, naming each stroke as she went.

"Rahn! Jin! Shen! Byoh! Sou! Rai! Ki!" she shouted, a tempest kicking up around them, riffling her clothes and hair in a whirl of furious white light. The spells flared up around her in response and the air warped and shifted.

"Creature of evil, obey my sovereign command!"

"No! Merrill! What are you doing?" the creature demanded in Fenris' voice with Fenris body, it's eyes looking at her pleadingly out of _his_ face. If she were less than she was, Merrill would have wavered. The sight of a friend looking pleadingly at her, begging her to stop, would have been enough to shake her resolve.

"For in this kingdom, my will is as strong as yours, and my power as great!" she continued.

"Please, stop."

"You hold no sway here, creature and you shall not pass!"

"Please."

Her heart twisted at that voice, breaking into a piteous sob, but her resolve did not waver because she could feel the _real_ Fenris in the back of her mind, battling against that demon-spawn _thing_ and pissed off about the way things were going. He was familiar her habitual soft-heartedness, her naivete, and the elf felt she was going to relinquish the field in the face of her own sympathy because she would be unable to harm the form of someone she saw as a friend, even if she knew it wasn't who it seemed.

_:And if I could not feel him there with me, he might be right,:_ she admitted to herself._ :But this is the way to protect what is __**mine**__ to protect.:_

"Bow down," she commanded, pressing the tip of her staff at the top of its head.

The demon wearing Fenris's shape slowly sank to its knees, like a slave. It's eyes shifted to green to match Fenris' eyes and it pleaded with her once again to let him free, to help him, and how could she do this to him? Didn't she know she was hurting him? Angry that it attempted to manipulate her even now, Merrill lashed it with her power and forced it to change back to its true form, the staff sending a pulse of magic through it that made its flesh ripple and crawl until the amorphous, horned, many-limbed creature knelt before her.

"Wait, if you destroy me here, all hope of healing the mirror and regaining what was lost will be gone!"

"I said..." Merrill replied with grim calm, pressing the top of its forehead all the way down to the floor as though the creature were begging forgiveness.

"..._Bow_!"

Lightning struck in the center of the room when she brought her staff downward, grounding the very last part of the spell. A flash washed everything brilliant, blinding white. Wind scented of rain and sunshine kicked up all around her as dancing floating motes of power flew about like leaves in a hurricane. A pulse of pure magic rippled outward, purification like a hot wind washing through everything, scouring it clean of all taint and darkness. The surface of the mirror warped and twisted, images flashing across its surface in a flicker, and then, like rainwater falling up, white star-motes of power crawled out of the frame, joining the motes of power already whirling about the spell, and they scattered like blossom petals on a breezy day in spring. As quickly as the ending rush came, it left, taking all of its power with it. The gateway dimension folded up in on itself and dispersed in a tiny, spark-like fizzle of light.

"Well," Merrill said, as all strength drained from her like water being poured from a pitcher. "That was exciting wasn't it?"

She promptly fainted.

_**Notes: So there it is, the chapter I pretty much wrote the whole fic for. If you reveiw any chapter let it be this one, I'd really like to hear your thoughts on it, even if its just "go Merrill, awesome curbstomping!" I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it but don't worry, there's still more fic to come. Huge shoutouts to all those who reveiwed the last chapter I love you guys and sorry it took me so long to post this one I hope you all liked it anyway.**_


	16. Chapter 16

It took a few seconds for Fenris to blink the day-stars out of his eyes and for the ringing in his ears to fade. One of these days he was going to have a talk with that witch about her flashy magic. That last bit had knocked him clear off his feet again, and his lyrium markings were throbbing once more.

_:The demon is nowhere to be seen, so that's good,:_ he quickly took stock._ :And its void-spawned progeny seems to have joined it wherever it went, if it went anywhere and wasn't just scoured clean out of existence. If I'd known she was this good at banishing dark magic, I'd have dragged her back to her teacher by the hair and forced her to reform much earlier.:_

Speaking of reformed witches...

Fenris saw the slight form of the witch in question lying still on the floor of the circle where she'd battled the demon. He struggled to his feet, momentarily alarmed, but Anders was already closer to her. In a few short paces he was at her side, pushing her onto her back and checking her vitals.

"How is she?" Hawke called over, his voice rough from being thrown across the room at the end of the spell, the same as Fenris had been.

"She's alive, just unconscious," Anders reported back. "Breathing, temperature and heartrate all fine, no sign of physical trauma and a basic scan seems to show all of her magical facilities in good working order. She's just shut down from exhaustion is all."

"And the rest of you lot, check in," Hawke said.

"Hawke," Fenris grunted to signal he was alive.

"I'm here, and I think I swallowed a tooth," the boy-mage said.

"At the risk of sounding blasphemous, I honestly can't tell whether it was my armor or the grace of Andraste that protected me this time," Sebastion said from the corner of the cave he'd been blown back into.

There were the sounds of the various members of their party straggling to their feet.

"Mythal's mercy!" the young mage said. "Wait till I tell my Clan we faced down a full fledged Greater Spirit and its... its... horror from the back of Beyond! This is one for the clan lore, that's for certain."

"Ooooh... my head," Merrill moaned from where she lay. "Marethari? Is that you?"

"I'm afraid not Merrill," Anders said with a fond look at her. "You'll have to settle for me, though I flatter myself to say that I am better looking."

"Good goin' short stuff!" Hawke called an ebullient cheer from where he stood. "You took up that demon and made it your bitch!"

Fenris stomped over to her, scowl in place, lyrium markings in a burning throb on his skin and everything about his manner saying that he was very much _Not Amused._

"Woman!" he barked at her. "In the last two days I've raced from Kirkwall up the Sundermount to help you with your foolishness. I've been knocked about by your magic, faced down a shrieking horde of unquiet dead, then to be pummeled like bread dough by some unspeakable creation of dark magic, all so that you could summon some unholy demon from the depths of the Void to engage it in some magic-bound stand-off!"

Merrill blinked at him from where she sat leaned against Anders exhaustedly, her head craning back to look at him from where he thundered down from on high. He didn't kneel of course, but he did bring his head closer to her level, crouched down like tiger ready to pounce. It wasn't a smile (he only did that when he was drunk) but he allowed his expression to convey his approval for a battle well-fought and won.

"Well done," he said.

Merrill stared as did Anders. A moment later she called over to the young boy-mage.

"Dermayan, you must alert my Keeper and have her gather the Clans for an Arlethvenn," she said in a slightly quavering voice that conveyed how weak she was.

"Was this demon really that powerful?" Dermayan asked, wide-eyed.

Fenris started to suspect that her oddities might actually be hereditary.

"I just heard two words of unmitigated praise from Fenris," she replied humorously. "I want it recorded in the collective sagas of our people. Sebastion, alert your chantry as well, they will want to put this one on their calendar!"

Fenris frowned at her for her levity while Hawke and Anders enjoyed a chuckle at his expense.

"Andrate smiles on us this day my friends," Sebastion said cheerfully. "A powerful demon was completely erased, never to harry another living soul again. Truly a day worth remembering."

Merrill tried to rise to her feet and found she was too weak from her magical battle to do so. She leaned back on Anders again and Fenris found himself feeling a little piqued by that.

"Nope," Anders said firmly to his new patient, restraining her with a light hand. "No you don't. No walking for you. You're still too weak from your ordeal. One of us can carry you down the mountainside."

Anders scooped her up easily before anyone else could say anything. Fenris felt a pang of irritation at the mage's high-handedness in just picking her up as he pleased, followed by another pang of irritation as the little mage didn't argue with him about it like she had with Fenris when he'd carried her home.

_:Of course, that could be because she's alseep,:_ he reassessed a moment later. Her head was leaned against the tall human's chest and she was out like a candle.

"I know I speak for everyone here when I say, let's get out of this Maker forsaken hole," Hawke said.

"Motion seconded," Sebastion chimed in.

"Motion approved," Fenris finished.

He and the rest of the group formed in around Anders and his burden as a guard down the side of the mountain. Fortune truly was smiling on them after their battle (or maybe the prior skirmishes had warned off all the rest of them) for there was no trouble on their way back to camp. When they arrived it was to a find hunters of both camps armed up and armored, positioned to meet trouble, while the non-fighters and children hung back.

"It's alright," Hawke called. "The demon is destroyed and we can all go back to our weird little wheeled elven homes, there's nothing more to see."

"Da'lenn?" Keeper Marethari called over, pushing through the crowd, hope and terror warring on her face.

"She's just asleep," Anders said with gentle reassurance. "She's had a hard fight, for that demon didn't give over easily, but with a little rest she'll be fine."

"Praise be to Mythal!" another elven woman with the same delicate features as Merrill said, then promptly turned to the man next to her and burst into tears.

"Now there, ma vhenan," the man comforted the crying woman. "I told you our girl was too strong and stubborn to be defeated by any demon."

"It wouldn't have been necessary for her to face it at all if she hadn't gone haring off with that shem-lover Mahariel and gotten fool notions about mirrors in her head," a young man on the other side of the elder man growled. Judging by the look of him, he might possibly be one of Merrill's kin, another brother perhaps.

"Have a care how you speak of our kinsman, he's a Grey Warden, a position that should be respected even if he _does_ consort with Shems," one other elf said. "That fool girl made her own mind up, without any help from Mahariel. She's the one who chose to hold court with demons over that mirror."

"Which she wouldn't have even found if-"

"That will be quite enough," Marethari checked them firmly. "The argument is now moot. The mirror is destroyed, the demon has been vanquished, and Merrill is now home safe with us where she belongs. I for one think that this occasion calls for a celebration instead. Let there be drink and frolicking instead."

"That's more like it," Hawke muttered.

Marethari showed Anders over to one of the round, felt-walled tents that folded out of their Aravells to deposit his burden. Fenris watched as instruments were brought out and young elves began to dance, while others gathered foodstuffs and began to prepare them. Fenris himself, not convivial with large numbers of strangers at the best of times, found a bottle of elvhen wine and settled around a small fire out of the way. Hunters crowded round Dermayan to hear the tale. A few daring souls tried to approach him, but a scowl in their direction sent them off quite well. Hawke turned them towards himself with his usual ease, though there were a notable number of snubs on account of his being a human.

_:Nice to see that racism is alive and healthy here in Elven Paradise,:_ Fenris thought cynically, rolling his eyes.

He had not been entirely honest with Merrill when he'd answered her question about the Elvhen slaves in Tevinter and their feelings on the Dalish. It wasn't so much that the enslaved Elves didn't care about the Dalish, it was that their feelings and reactions were mixed. A large number intensely disliked the Dalish, were jealous of their freedom and felt that if they were truly serious about preserving their people, they should stop frolicking uselessly in the woods and telling stories to children around the campfire, and _do_ something. The other elves turned the Dalish into virtual saints who floated across the lands in their magical landships, dispensing wisdom and raising their people to goodness and liberty... and they all had castles on the moon stocked with all the best foods to eat. In other words, stories to tell slave-children to make them contented with their miserable lot.

_:I wonder if whoever raised me ever told me any of those Dalish Tales,:_ he thought idly, admiring the way the firelight shone through the bottle of wine. _:Maker, I hope not.:_

It didn't take long for the party get in full swing around him, though Fenris kept himself apart from it by habit and inclination. He might be an elf, but these Dalish were not _his_ people. Their laughter and merry-making only served to exacerbate his dislike for them. While they danced and sang and had their fun, others of their kind whom they claimed to care about so much suffered cruelty at the hands of those who had power over them. So far as Fenris was concerned, whatever they said about "preserving the heritage of their people" they were just cowards, too afraid to step up and try to make a difference.

Before his thoughts could turn any further down their usual bitter path, he was joined by another elf, a medium -sized man with the hands of a craftsman, dark hair and gentle eyes.

"I understand you're one of the ones who went into the cave to help my Merrill. My son tells me you fought bravely and well. You have my deepest gratitude. Ma seranas."

"And you are?" Fenris inquired coolly, ignoring the strange feeling he got at the rarity of someone personally thanking him. Usually he let Hawke handle that sort of thing, he was better at it, better with people.

"Elric of Alerion Clan. Merrill is my daughter. My only daughter in fact. My wife keeps giving me sons, not that there's anything wrong with sons. I love each of my boys and am proud of them, but they don't take doting very well."

"I was under the understanding that Merrill belongs to Sabrae Clan," Fenris replied. "Ah, but that's right, your Clan had a bumper crop of mages that year so you all sold her off to Sabrae."

"There was no selling, lad," the man said, a bit sharply. "That is the way it is in the Clans, we all work together to support each other and preserve the Elvhen way of life. To go and train under Keeper Marethari of Sabrae Clan and fill a need for a mage, as well as to preserve the lore and history for this Clan, is Merrill's duty, just as letting her go was ours."

Fenris snorted.

"And what will Sabrae Clan do now that their successor has been known to dabble in blood magic?" he inquired a bit cynically. "Just sweep it under the rug, I suppose?"

"Oh no, that's a serious crime and no mistake of it. But... she's taken responsibility for her actions and proven herself willing to mend her ways," the man said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself rather than Fenris.

"So a slap on the wrists and everything's fine then."

"Keeper Marethari will speak on her behalf at the convocation, I am sure."

"Convocation?" Fenris asked.

"Why yes, we're only the first clan to show up, mainly because we were already on our way here," Elric said. "My wife prevailed upon our Keeper to come and visit Sabrae Clan, camped at the foot of the Sundermount, with the intention of finding Merrill in that awful shem-hole across the coast and talk her out of her foolishness with that mirror. But even if certain forms of what is now called blood magic has historically been accepted as a valid form of magic according to ancient texts, she still defied her Clan and Keeper's will to make a deal with a spirit of the Beyond. She will be called to answer for that, if nothing else."

"Is it a crime among the Dalish?" he asked curiously.

He would have thought it would be, consorting with demons should be a universal no-no.

"Yes and no," Elric replied with a so-so gesture. "It's well known that not all Spirits in the Beyond are inimical, though most of the ones who will offer you aid in exchange for a reasonable price are usually the self-interested and inimical sort, according to the Lore. Thus it is not the summoning or the making pacts with the spirits that is the crime."

"Really," Fenris said flatly, shaking his head at the foolishness. Really, they split hairs like magisters. It just went to show that mages will take any excuse to grasp at more power.

"Now, be aware lad, that summoning is frowned upon, though if circumstances are dire enough it is understood that a Keeper or First will do what is necessary to protect her Clan. That isn't really the issue, though Merrill will most likely find herself censured for her decision. The fact that she went back up the mountain and made things right will go a long way in mitigating that, I hope."

"So what is this convocation supposed to be about if they're not going to charge her with a crime?" he asked.

"A moot point as of today," Elric replied with a small smile. "If the eluvian was destroyed as you and your friends say, then there's no need to discuss what will be done with it."

"Was there any debate about the demon mirror?" he asked curiously.

To Fenris that magical trouble magnet had been nothing but lightning rod for all sorts of dangers. Not to mention the fact that even urepaired it still had possessed power. It was certainly far better off destroyed than it was repaired.

"A genuine ancient magical artifact of the days of Arlethann?" Elric seemed wryly surprised that he'd asked. "Of course! There were a number of elves that were more than content to let my young Merrill take all the risks on her own, so that they could sweep in and reap the benefits if there were any to be had. Mind, these are the same ones who plan to point their fingers at her and berate her actions as endangering the clan now that they do not benefit."

Fenris grunted acknowledgement of the irony. Some things truly were universal.

"Because her actions were taken for the benefit of the clans and the enrichment of our knowledge, no real censure will occur, I'm sure... but... well, they might censure her for destroying the artifact."

"Of _course_ they will," Fenris said flatly, rolling his eyes. "Because that would make sense, let's reprimand the little twit for finally doing the _right_ thing."

"Watch who you call a twit, city elf," Elric admonished sharply. "That's my daughter you speak of."

Fenris let it slide. He'd seen small evidence of some families that actually took thier blood bonds to each other as seriously as the tales said families did. Elric had mentioned that Merrill had brothers, apparently lots of them, and at least one of them was a mage of no small talent. Perhaps discretion was in order, at least while he was in the camp.

"Why tell me this?" he asked curiously. "It is a fact that the mirror is destroyed, and in my opinion your daughter should be proud that she was the one to do it. Finally displaying sensible behavior should be encouraged."

"That's not how some will see it," the older man said sadly. "By going rogue and living away from her own clan, not to mention the fact that she just faced down a demon straight out of on of our people's most harrowing legends, my girl has set herself up to be something of a bone of contention now."

"Contention?" he said skeptically. "Over what? She is but a mage. One of the more powerful ones I've seen, I'll grant that if I must... but she has the attention span of a butterfly. Who would fight over her?"

"It's her skill and her power that is of interest, and the uses it can be put to," Elric said firmly. "She will face penance for her indiscretions, and there are those who will be on the council at the convocation who would have no qualms about using her power and skills to further their own ends."

"Sounds like a Dalish problem, or at the very least, a witch problem," Fenris said. "It has nothing to do with me."

"Are you not her friend?" the older elf asked, taken aback.

"No," Fenris replied, putting paid to that mans crazy notion that _he_ would want to be friends with a _mage_. "We are associates. There are times when we must travel together, in the company of Hawke, but I go because I owe Hawke a life-debt. If that means suffering the presence of the mage, so be it."

He was saved from having to say anything more to the man's injured and offended look by the approach of Keeper Marethari. For a mage, that great lady's presence was... somewhat tolerable. He even felt that the great respect that Merrill still held for her teacher even in the midst of her disobedience was one of the few traits approaching sensible behavior the young mage possessed.

"Fenris," she said. "Merrill is awake and has requested to see you, da'len."

"I'm not a child," he corrected her, deliberately making his tone and sneering, rude and belligerent as he could to show the woman that though mages ruled among her people _he_ was not going to suffer their presence with equanimity. The elder lady looked more amused than offended by his slight rebellion. "And why does she wish to see me?"

"She would not say, only that she wishes to speak with you," Marethari said calmly, ignoring his tone.

_:I see where the witch gets it from,:_ he thought idly.

It always rather surprised him how Merrill never seemed to rise to the bait during their verbal tiffs. He heaped scorn on her, berated her choices, her way of life and went out of his way to insult her even when she was trying to be _nice_ to him, but unlike Anders she would not reply in kind. At least with the abomination he could get his hits in and feel satisfied, but with Merrill it was like kicking a puppy. Her teacher seemed to be the mold that Merrill was formed from. Granted, the younger Dalish mage was still rough around the edges; she was proud, and spoiled and oblivious, but it was as though she and her teacher both were able to hear more in what he said than he meant them to, and knew that the only way to take the wind form his sails was to not respond in kind.

"Isn't she unconscious?" he demanded, irritated at being summoned.

"The human mage is very practiced at the healing arts," Marethari replied. "You should go and see her, she seems worried about you."

Fenri snorted at the presumptuousness that _she_ should be worried about _him_ when they were in a camp full of Dalish that he could flatten easily, blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back. The crazy elven witch would do far better to worry more about herself. After all, she was the one who seemed to take it upon herself to go haring off alone and do crazy things that anyone in their right mind and with a lick of common sense would know are dangerous things to go doing.

_:Like walk up a mountain and engage a legendary evil in a contest of wills,:_ he thought with a headshake.

Still, he rose to his feet and walked the short distance to the tent that she had been taken to for rest and healing. Truth be told he had been aware of her all evening. All throughout the time he'd quietly sipped wine by the fireside, and through the conversation he'd suffered through with her father, he had felt the direction she'd been in as a subtle awareness, like the feeling of eyes boring into his back, or the ephemeral pressure of the heat of a campfire warming his skin. He _knew_ where she was, just the same as he knew where his left hand was. What was even a little more unsettling to him was the fact that he subconsciously found the knowledge to be comforting rather than upsetting. He knew somehow that the witch knew more about this strange sense of her seemed to have developed recently and he intended to have the information out of her.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Ladies and Gentlemen... I... Have been taken to school. That'll teach me for getting all cocky, thinking I've got this soulbonding thing nailed down. So, thank you Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory, for instructing me, in your new book Crown of Vengeance, in the finer points of an awesome unwanted soulbonding. I am a student at the feet of a master. That said, I hope you all enjoy the chapter you all seem to have been waiting for. You've all been wonderful and I hope you find this worth the wait.**_

* * *

He pushed back the flap on the tent and stepped in, surprised to see that interior felt much roomier than its exterior would lead one to believe. The walls were a latticework skeleton supporting an exterior cloth-wall of very heavy and thick beaten-wool felt, which came to a soft dome-like point supported by a rib of semi-arched ironwood, fastened securely to a ring in the center of the ceiling. The inside of the center ring was cut out for a smoke hole with a metal brazier and long, collapsible chimney-tube attached to the warming brazier in the center of the ger tooi0 take the smoke out directly.

_:Surprisingly home-like and...colorful,:_ he noted with some surprise.

The interior wall of the cloth house was lined with thick wool-felt tapestries woven in intricate, colorful patterns and the floor was covered in thick woven rugs. Along the interior walls were lined with beautifully carved wooden storage chests and boxes. There was a small low table, an altar in the eastern part of the room, and a large sitting-loom near the door flap. The center part of the ger was mostly bare, save for the brazier for burning wood to heat the ger, giving the illusion of space to the interior. Merrill rested in a futon spread out on the floor, with her back reclined against a chest behind her and four neatly stacked wooden bowls and the last remaining end of a loaf of round-bread testament to the appetite of a warrior after battle beside her. She was covered to the waist by a thick, colorful blanket, and dressed in a loose-fitting sleeping garment. She looked up at his arrival and smiled hesitantly at him, though he could see a deep exhaustion about her face and body that made her look thinner and smaller that she usual.

"You summoned me?" he said gruffly.

He felt unaccountably tense at being alone in her presence, he crossed his arms defensively over his breastplate, irritated with himself for his sudden, strange case of nerves. The fact that she looked so frail was bothering him as well, and the fact that he was bothered, irritated him further.

"Well, I like to think of it as a request," Merrill said with a shy smile. "But I, um... there was something I needed to talk with you about, in private. Please have a seat."

She gestured to a low cushion with some sort of back-supporting device behind it that sat next to the warming brazier, right near where she rested. Merrill fidgeted with the edge of the blanket on her lap as he took a seat cross-legged on the cushion. Fenris studied the patterns woven into the wall-rugs with apparent fascination as a way to avoid looking at her. The silence stretched awkwardly for a long moment. Merrill busied herself with a small and beautifully crafted earthenware teapot and a mixture of herbs.

"Would you like some?" she offered, sounding as nervous as Hawke always said she was with unexpected company. "It's my own blend, and I've actually been complimented on my ability to make tea, and not just by people who know me and don't want to be rude."

"I do not drink tea," he grumbled, eying the drink with distaste and looking around for another bottle of wine as his was mostly gone.

"It's very good for you, better than that wine you seem to like so much," Merrill said as she pulled a metal pot of near-boiling water off the little stove built into the metal brazier. He was a little surprised at how steady her hands were as she poured it it over a fine wire-mesh bowl inside the put to steep. "The tea's benefits change, depending on what you put in it. There's blends that can relax you, or sharpen your focus, there's medicinal teas for ailments and troubles of course, and there are blends that are purely for the enjoyment of taste."

"What's in it?" he asked suspiciously.

"Bluetip, kachava leaf, featherwind cane to add a little sweetness, I have sorrowtree bark for my headache, and selian leaf."

"I... do not know what half of those are," he admitted reluctantly.

"Herbs for flavor mostly, to take out the bitter in the sorrowtree bark," she said. "But I can make you my favorite spring blend; briar-leaf and ekinasha and snowtear. Or if you prefer I could-"

"You babble, woman," he cut her off.

"Oh. Right. I'll stop now," she said.

"You did not request me here to pour your vile concoction down my throat," he said. "Speak."

"But you just said... never mind. Um. Well."

She looked nervous. Granted, she always seemed a little shy and awkward, but in this instance he was surprised she hadn't clumsily poured the boiling water all over herself.

_:The night is young,:_ he reminded himself.

"I'm not exactly sure how to go about this," she said nervously.

Fenris looked at her steadily, he got that strange sense of her mood again, knowing without knowing how he knew, that she was more than nervous, she was a little afraid.

"It's just... I mean, you're _different_, I mean not that it's bad," she hastily reassured him. "But you're really, _really_ not Dalish, so I don't even know where to begin."

Fenris huffed impatiently, wishing she'd get to the point and wondering if she'd just insulted him. Merrill swallowed nervously and concentrated on pouring tea with unnecessary intensity. The action of pouring tea seemed to calm her spirit a little bit, for she collected herself and when she spoke next she was a little calmer.

"I know you were raised in Tevinter, Fenris," she said quietly. "Among the elves who live there, is there anything... do they speak about a certain... unusual connection? I mean, are there stories about it?"

"I haven't the least idea of what you're talking about," he said frankly, then added reluctantly. "I wouldn't know what the Tevinter Elves do and do not have stories of, my memories of my childhood and past are gone. My earliest memories are of the agony of these markings being carved into my living flesh. My memories proceed from there. I was kept at my masters side like a faithful hound and my position excluded me from the company of the other elves. We did not associate."

"Oh," she said sadly.

He couldn't explain how he knew, but somehow he sensed her sorrow for him and her pity irritated him. He was strong, the last thing he wanted was her or anyone else's pity.

"Well, I suppose there's no preconceptions about it then, which I guess might be good. So!"

Merrill face skewed up in concentration, as though thinking very hard about something.

"I don't actually know how to explain this in a way you might accept. Most of my explanation comes with long references to the goddess Mythal and Her blessing, but you worship the Maker so I doubt you'll accept it if I tried to explain it the way I know."

"Accept what?" he grumbled, reaching the limit of his patience to put up with her senseless prattle.

"Well, maybe you've never seen or heard of such a thing and you only have my word to tell you that it's real, but sometimes, between two elves there's a certain special bond-"

Fenris regarded her with dawning realization and no small amount of horror. She was trying to proposition him! He'd made his negative feelings about mages in genral and her in particular crystal clear right from the start, it seemed incomprehensible to him that the little twit could ever even begin to imagine that there might be something between them. He'd sooner cut off his sword arm!

"You can't be serious," he said.

"Look, I know it's hard to accept. That's why I wanted to talk with you about it. I was thinking we could-"

"Let me be clear, witch," he said. "Under no circumstances am I forming any bond with you."

"That's lovely then!" Merrill said brightly. "Och! What a relief! I'm glad we talked about this."

"Wait, what?" Fenris said, thrown for a loop.

"The soulbond," she said, as though it should be obvious.

"What's a soulbond?" he said blankly.

Merrill sighed a little and muttered

"I knew that went too easy. Okay Fenris, I need you to listen to me very carefully, and to not interrupt. There's no room for confusion or misunderstandings here. I'm going to go ahead and give you the Goddess Mythal version of things because that's what I know, you can fit it into your own head any way you like."

"Go on then," he said. Mentally he added 'crazy witch' to the end of it.

Merrill straightened and her voice took on the secure measured tones of a Keeper imparting ancient wisdom to her clansmen and Fenris tried not to look condescendingly amused at the sight of _Merrill_ being _confident_. The little blood mage found a sliver of backbone, how cute.

"From time to time, and for Her mysterious reasons," she began. "The goddess Mythal singles out two elves to receive a very special blessing. This blessing is what is called a soulbond, a connection wrought between two souls. Some say that these souls were once one soul and got separated, others say that the connection is divine will. Either way, a pair of bondmates are essentially one entity in two bodies. According to all the lore on the subject they feel what is in each other hearts-"

"That's just-" he protested.

"I said no interrupting!" Merrill said severely, frowning at him."As I was saying. The goddess puts this bond into place, supposedly to mark the pair out as recipients of Her favor, or possibly because they have a difficult destiny ahead of them and will require the unwavering support and empathy between two souls that the soulbond will bring to them. Either way, it is a connection that transcends mere magic or anything of this world or the next. It's more complicated than love, and once awakened, is absolutely unbreakable, even in death. The death of one bondmate in an awakened soulbond means the death of the other. Likewise, happiness is doubled and sorrow halved... or so the legends state."

"Wait... I have heard of this phenomenon," he said slowly, as she seemed to be done talking. "Not from other elves, but from a magister. One of Danarius' cronies was studying the... elven abnormality, as he called it. He complained about the rarity of specimens for study, he said he had been able to acquire only two pairs of specimens, one pair of which had died as a result of a particularly invasive procedure. He'd wondered if my master might know of any others."

Merrill regarded Fenris in horror, a horror he could sort of sense in a way that told him that not all of his feedback was through interpreting the look on her face. There truly was something _witchy_ going on.

"That's... just awful!" she said sincerely.

"What have I _said_ about Magisters?" he replied, with a look that conveyed the thought that she might be daft. "Have you _not_ been paying attention? They are _not_ good people. What else do you expect when you demand that others too weak to stand against you pay for your ambitions with their lives?"

"I'm in agreement with you, don't put me in with them!" Merrill snapped defensively.

"Blood mage," he pointed out.

"_Former_," she corrected primly. "And I've never once demanded another pay the costs of my magic. The demon, I will admit now was... biting off more than I could possibly swallow, so I must cede the victory to you in that case, just try not to be an utter prat about it?"

His feeling of smug elation at the witch openly acknowledging his victory was dampened a bit by her wordage about his attitude.

"Prat?" he questioned.

Where did she hear that word?

"You've been spending time with Anders," he surmised, ignoring the slight feeling of rivalry he got at the thought.

"We're losing focus on the real matter here, Fenris," Merrill said with a note of impatience. "So you at least accept that the soulbonding truly exists, correct?"

"I saw the evidence with my own eyes, sadly," he said reluctantly. "Danarius was curious about his associate's peculiar study and the things he claimed about it, so he went to witness one of his experiments, and naturally I was brought along as his bodyguard. The magister was interested in using this 'soulbonding,' as you call it, to help him measure the substance of a soul and figure out what part of the body it might be housed in. He was one of those "immortalis" researchers."

"Immortalis, like immortality... you mean...?"

"Yes, trying to cheat death with blood magic," Fenris nodded.

He gave a small grimace of amusement at the look of patent disbelief on her face.

"Why so surprised?" he demanded. "It's a very, very popular line of study among Imperium Magisters. Anyway, this fellow figured that if he could find where the soul was housed in the body, he might then find a way to extricate the soul without it automatically passing on to whatever awaits after death. Once that was done, he theorized that the soul could be transferred to a new sort of vessel. Not a new theory certainly, but also not one that had ever proven fruitful in the past despite many, many, _many_ attempts over the years."

"They try to cut the soul from the body?" Merrill said. "Doesn't that kill them?"

"Yes, naturally. Actually, it kills their experimental victims anyway, the Magisters come out of it just fine, some of them with more notes and a new line of research. This other Magister must have heard some elvhen tale about these souldbonded somewhere. Figuring that the bond was literally a thread that tied the souls together, he thought that it would lead him right to where the soul was housed inside the body. Thus, he was trying to find a way to cut the bond."

Merrill gasped in horror, hands flying to her face in dismay at the idea.

"Tell me he didn't succeed," she begged sorrowfully.

"I suppose that depends," Fenris said steadily. "The elves did not survive his battery of tests, but he did discover that whatever force tied them together could not be severed with magic, or with lyrium blades or..."

He looked significantly down at his lyrium-lined hands inside their spiked gauntlets.

"Pulled out like a weed from within their bodies," he finished. "His hypothesis changed to this phenomenon being a strange sort of partial-possession, in which two souls exist somehow in a perpetually merged state with one another."

"I... don't know what to say," she said, clearly dumbstruck. "Partial possession? What an awful way of putting it! Soulbonding is supposed to be a gift from Mythal. And speaking of which, there is no record in all the lore of the Dalish, not even the ancient records, of any soulbonded pair successfully resisting the bond. Among my people, if two elves are blessed with holy union, they're married by Divine Will and that's that. Oh, the bonding gives them a certain special status in the Clans to be sure, but that's mainly out of the belief that they are living evidence of the Creators still having some influence, however small, to aid and comfort Their children. More like living symbols of hope that all is not lost."

"Hnh," he grunted, shaking his head at the weird fancy.

The Dalish seemed a strange people at times, but he supposed he could sort of see where they were coming from. People often saw the will of the Maker in even the most ordinary things, it made sense that the Dalish would see the extraordinary as a sign that their gods had not forsaken them.

"Now, I didn't know this until I researched it," Merrill went on. "But there are actually three levels in a soulbonding. A latent state, which is what we are in right now. I can tell... well, just because I can _tell_, that you've noticed a few odd things going on lately. Restlessness, strange dreams, the weird ability to sense what I'm feeling, knowing where to find me at any given moment... it's all perfectly normal for this stage of the bonding. It gets worse from here you know."

"So you think we're... _You and_ I? With a _mage_?! That's ridiculous!" he scoffed.

"I know, I'm just as upset about the idea as you are," Merrill nodded firmly in agreement with him. "I've already had to give up things that I didn't want to because of this stupid thing. The last thing I want is this condition we share getting any worse."

She made him sound like some kind of infectious disease, and that should be _his_ line!

"What makes you think that we're soulbonded and this isn't all some kind of strange side-effect from your demon-mirror or some other magical mishap? I always said that stuff is dangerous and too difficult to control."

"If it were mere magic, Fenris, I would be able to undo it, or at least trace it," she said with belabored patience. "Or if I couldn't, Keeper Marethari could. The Tehn'shii ritual completely scoured clean my channels of all taint and flooded me with the raw power of the Beyond, and yet it didn't touch this ability I have to feel you. Not even the will of that demon could affect it."

"We've known each other for years without any witchy magical possession cropping up, why would it suddenly start now?" he demanded querulously.

"In all that time we've been in each other's company how often have we touched each other, or even met gazes for any length of time?" she countered.

The answer to that was not at all. His aversion to mages made certain of it. Every time they'd had to be in one another's company, when he wasn't insulting her, he liked to be as far from her as possible. His own aversion to touch kept contact with even people he thought were tolerable down to a minimum, people he detested never got within ten inches of him, even in the heat of battle. And if all that were true, then it wasn't like he was going to stare at her over the fire. It looked like his aversion to the witch had served him in more ways than the obvious if it had kept this contagion they shared at bay for so long.

"So you're saying that it's just been laying there, dormant, until it suddenly decided to flare up for no reason?"

"I don't _know_ Fenris!" she replied, exasperated. "I mean, there's lore about bondmates yes, but every story is either about the two of them wakening their bonds or about their lives after they bond. No-one seems interested in writing about what they were like as individuals before they bonded. Though some accounts have hinted that there were cases in which the two bondmates did not get along. In fact, there's one story about a bonded pair from two clans who were feuding, but that story I suspect has been embellished over time."

"How do I know you're not making this up?" he demanded suspiciously.

Merrill looked at him, her face a copy of his own when he wanted to say wordlessly that the person before him was being an idiot.

"Let's start with the fact that I just gave up my eluvian," she said in a voice of belabored patience. "Which, if you recall, is an artifact for which I left my clan in disgrace, for which I gave up my life and position here with my clan, for which took up questionable magical practices in order to heal so that I could gain precious knowledge that is worth more to me than my own life's-blood. Why would I do that? I'm sure you've been wondering. Well I'll _tell_ you why. In order for me to use blood magic properly, without ending up sacrificing babies on blood altars as you were so convinced that I would, the one unbreakable rule was that _I_ would only ever be the one to pay it's cost. In a soulbonding all is _shared_. Whatever cost I paid would be paid by my bondmate as well, and there would be no way for me to protect him from it. There was no way around this fact, and so I was faced with a choice; hurt you in order to get what I want, or give it all up. I chose to give it up. _I_ was willing to face scorn from my people, and the dangers of Spirits, and the prices of blood magic Fenris... but you were an innocent, and it's my duty to protect you as best I can, my responsibility to do the right thing. Do you think anything less would have convinced me to destroy the eluvian?"

Fenris regarded her for a very long moment in silence, mulling it over. She had him there. Judging by everything he had seen since they'd met, everything with Merrill had come back to that demon-mirror and the lost knowledge she'd hoped to gain from it. He had always scorned her for giving up what had always looked to him to be an idyllic life; a good home, people who loved her, a position of respect, all to go chasing ghosts and playing with demons that would eventually turn around and consume her. It had seemed to him like tossing aside gold to pick up poison, but he sort of understood that the twit felt that there were things more important than her own comfort and happiness. He could have respected that were it not so patently the wrong decision to make. Weighed against everything she had given up to pursue the eluvian, only something of much greater importance would make her give it up.

"And if you need proof, just meet my gaze for a long moment," she added.

No chance of that, he well remembered the momentary madness that had almost overtaken him the last time he'd gotten too close to her.

"So what now then?" he demanded bitterly, hating the situation already. "I escape iron chains in Tevinter only to have my soul chained to a mage?"

"I knew you'd see it that way," she said a bit glumly. "And truth to tell, I don't want this either."

Fenris couldn't help the small spike of insult he felt at her words. _He_ was supposed to be the one who was upset about the situation. After all, _he_ was the one being forced into some horrible arcane connection with the sort of creature he hated the most in all of existence. It wasn't as though she were doing badly out of this. In fact, he didn't see how she had any cause for complaints! He was a warrior of some skill in battle, he was useful too, and more intelligent than she was, certainly. He'd probably spend the rest of his days trying to keep her out of messes her curiosity might get her into. And he was not unattractive, or so he'd been told. She was really getting the better end of the deal here.

"Oh to be sure you're a braw enough laddie," Merrill said, sensing the tenor of his thoughts through their link and calling him on them. "But then you have to go and open your mouth, Fenris."

"Excuse me?" he demanded.

"Elgar'nan! You heard me right," she replied with some small amount of heat herself. "Do you think I'm chuffed at the thought of being bonded to a man who treats me like dirt? Who never has a truly kind word to say to me, one who insults me at every opportunity and whose tone and manner are always disdainful? Do you think that when I pictured my future lifemate the first thing I thought was "och! let's settle wi' a man who hates me and everything I stand for, who would see me locked away in a prison of stone and iron because of my talent, who never sees me as _who_ I am, but _what_ I am?" Yer a braw laddie, an' handsome enough I'll give you that, but from where I stand, you are no prize."

That actually brought him up short for a second and his jaw clamped shut in surprise on the cutting remark he'd been about to deliver. It hadn't occurred to him that the silly little mage would be less than pleased with the situation. Weren't women supposed to like things like that? Romantic bondings and guaranteed love written in the stars and other such drivel?

_:Then again, she probably thinks nothing of summoning demons for a cup of tea,:_ he thought.

Merrill was probably just abnormal in a _lot_ of ways. If he'd gotten a _normal_ woman for this sort of thing, she'd be properly appreciative of her good luck in landing an exciting, handsome, capable, strong man to protect her. Of course, she'd probably also be giggling in a group of other girls, planning the wedding and writing sonnets about the eternal nature of thier devotion. Or worse, expect to be rescued from every dragon, blood-mage, kidnapper, bandit, or slaver in Kirkwall. He could hear the bards tuning their lutes already.

_:Or even worse... Varric readying his pen!:_

"I suppose you think that now that we have some kind of mystical soul-shackle chaining us together I'm suddenly going to realize I must have been wrong abot you all along, and be delighted with the thought of rescuing you from the results of your own stupidity for the rest of our lives," he snarled at her. "I may as well start lining up everyslaver, blood mage, Templar and bandit in the area right now, it'll save me the trouble of going through process of elimination later for when you eventually get taken by one of them because they offer you candy and a puppy!"

"Where do you get these notions from, Fenris?" Merrill looked at him like he was absolutely daft.

_:She has some sort of witchy ability to read my mind,:_ he thought, unsettled.

"I just don't see how a man who hangs around women like Pirate Queen Isabella, Guard-Captain Aveline or Bethany when she was still here, could possibly have formed such parochial, male-chauvinistic opinions."

His cheeks colored in embarrassment. There was a reading circle of silly young noble-girls still in school that met in the abandoned garden beneath his window every other afternoon and read aloud the latest romantic serial. The current volume was one that was not so bad, about a noblewoman kidnapped by a pirate while she was on her way to an arranged marriage to a much older baron far away... Fenris shook his head. That wasn't the point. The point was, _he_ was the one with the right to be upset about the situation.

"I fail to see how you're coming off badly from this situation," he argued. "As far as I can see, you get rid of your demon, escape the consequences of your foolish decisions and get to go back to your people and be their pampered little mage-queen again. All I get is being soul-chained to a stupid mage who can't tell a demon from a hole in the ground."

"Well we both have our problems with the idea," Merrill corrected him. "You don't want to be tied for life to a mage, you couldn't possibly be any clearer about that, and I don't want to be bonded to a mage-hater. I shall tell you plainly right now my lad, I may have given up the less than savory burdens I took on to try and help my clan-"

"Less than savory is a fine way of referring to blood magic and demon summoning," he interjected. "I would have used the term unholy black magic of the darkest sort."

"But I'm not giving up my magic completely," she said as though he hadn't spoken. "And since that's the only way I can see you possibly being satisfied with the situation, we're going to have to figure something else out. My magic is part of me, part of who I am and not just what I am, and unlike seemingly every other mage in Thedas, I'm not ashamed of it and I don't think of it as some terrible curse or burden."

"Neither do the magisters," he replied.

"Don't you ever get tired of looking at only the bad things?" she shot back.

"Not when I'm right," he replied easily.

"You should stick around then, and watch the other Keepers, you might see things differently if you do," she said, her tone surprisingly gentle.

It was a little disappointing that he could never truly seem to get a fight out of her. She was so calm and accepting, even when he knew he was being cruel. Still...

"I doubt it," he maintained. "Everyone has an angle."

"Really, mister cynical and mad at the world..." Merrill snapped, clearly loosing patience with him. "And what's Hawke's angle? What's Aveline's? Now Isabella, yes, I'll grant you that, but Sebastion? Or Varric even. Face it, your life, both of our lives, have been blessed with good people in them, people who care about others. There are a lot of people out there who would have contacted your old master Danarius and taken the reward for turning you in! Varric and Hawke and Aveline I know for a fact have been working hard to protect you. Did you think your three years of peace from bounty hunters, squatting in an old mansion in Hightown was a coincidence then? Do you realize how many patrols Aveline has arranged around your comings and goings, or how many nobles Hawke has had to chase off the idea of buying up a prime piece of real estate in a desirable location, or how many would-be bounty hunters and Carta thugs Varric has had to buy off? So spare me your world-weary cynicism Fenris. I understand you've been hurt and you like to wallow in it-"

"Wallow?!" he said, insulted.

"Oh, excuse me... brood, sorry, let me spare your dignity for you."

Maybe he should have not wished that Merrill would put up a fight, when she did, that woman took no prisoners.

"Rare exceptions aside, I doubt I'll find anything that's so remarkable about your precious Keepers," he said. "In the end they are still mages. Mages are ever trapped in their lust for power."

"Like anything else in the world, you won't know unless you give it a chance," Merrill said. "After all, isn't that how you met Hawke? Didn't you give him a chance to not turn you in, and now you have a lethaliin for life."

"None of this addresses how we get rid of this bond we share," he switched the subject, not wanting to admit that she'd actually won that one.

"There's no getting rid of it Fenris," merrill said flatly. "Think of it like a force of nature, you could just as soon ask a storm not to rain on you. Further than that, if the mage were powerful enough, he might be able to use magic to get the rain to stop, but a soulbond is something that even the strongest magic is useless against."

"So you're saying we're stuck this way?" he demanded.

"I'm afraid so," Merrill said sympathetically. "But cheer up, it's not as bad as it could be. Our bond is still latent. Sure, we can sense small things about each other, when we feel something particularly strongly, but it's not as bad as it could be."

"It's bad enough!" he snapped. "Do you realize how maddening it is to be separated from you when I can sense that you face danger?"

"No," she replied honestly.

"Well it's... difficult," he grumbled.

One more day and night like the last he'd spent and he'd be done for.

"I'm still not entirely convinced that this isn't your fault somehow," he added.

Merrill frowned at him and took a deep breath, he could feel the spike in irritation she felt at his obtuseness just as he could sense her underlying honesty in everything she'd told him. It was further evidence of a reality he did not wish to accept, so he was going to ignore and deny it for as long as he possibly could.

"Blaming me or trying to deny its existence won't get you anywhere," Merrill informed him. "I don't like it either, but what cannot be cured must be endured. For right now we have to talk about the particulars of the bonding, otherwise we'll both wind up like every other bonded pair in the stories; with a fully awakened bond and either seven children or a tragic ending, take your pick."

"I'll take the tragic ending," he said unequivocally.

Merrill rolled her eyes at him.

"So, the Bond is awakened to the second stage by physical contact," she informed him in a 'moving on' sort of tone. "That's skin to skin by the way. If there's anything in between us, like cloth or armor, it won't take hold and we're safe."

"There's a mercy," he muttered, making a mental not to have his gauntlets changed to cover the pads of his hands completely instead of leaving his palms bare.

"Da'len..." Mearethari called, interrupting their discussion. "Is everything alright in there?"

Merrill made a gesture and the walls of the tent glowed briefly.

"Just fine," she called out to her teacher. She turned back to him and lowered her voice to a near whisper.

"I had put a spell on the walls of the tent to block out the sound of our discussion becaue I didn't want anyone listening on or overhearing us when I broke the news to you. If my clan finds out about our bonding..."

"They'll disapprove?" he hazarded, not certain what the Dalish might make of their aberration.

"Worse," she said, seriously. "They'll all be very happy for us. Overjoyed, in fact."

"In other words we'll be marched to the marriage altar; bound and gagged if need be," he surmised.

Merrill confirmed it with a somber nod.

"I'm actually taking an enormous risk here," Merrill replied seriously. "A soulbonding is a gift from the goddess Mythal. It may happen between two individuals, but it's considered to be a blessing on the entire clan. To reject such a bond is _blasphemy_. We Dalish don't treat that word the same way the chantry does, where it seems like sneezing during the chant of the light will get you branded a heretic. There's maybe three things considered blasphemous by our faith, and rejecting a soulbond is one of them. It's not just trying to deny a blessing of the Goddess, it's also denying the Clan the chance to share in that blessing."

"Really," he said flatly, giving her an odd look. It sounded strange to him.

"I could be excommunicated for this!" she hissed. "Banished for good, never to return. I'm sticking my neck out for you."

"I thought you said you weren't happy about it either," Fenris pointed out.

"I'm not," Merrill said with a small sigh, looking down. "Your attitude is terrible and the way you treat people really bothers me, but I have my own flaws, I'll admit that. If it were just me, I'd bow my head to the will of my Goddess and accept that She has a plan, however much I may dislike it. But you've suffered enough at the hands of magic and mages, you don't deserve to be fettered to someone you despise and forced to be around things that make you unhappy."

She smiled, trying for a weak joke.

"You're unhappy enough all on your own."

Fenris didn't smile in response, mainly because it wasn't funny, but also because he was... well, a little touched. A very little.

"So all we have to do to avoid this getting any worse than it is, is just not ever touch each other? What about what's already in place?"

"I don't know," Merrill said. "As far back as our stories and legends go, there has been no record of a bonded pair successfully resisting the bond, and if there are any who tried, their stories were not preserved, or if they were they account hat survived is now radially different from the reality. To hear our people sing of it, you'd think that every pair to ever receive the Blessing of Mythal went into it with joy in their hearts and a song on their lips. But that couldn't possibly be entirely true, one of the tales has two of the bondmates from feuding clans!"

"Was that an expression of doubt about the sacred and honored histories and traditions of your people that I just heard?" he asked archly.

"Then again, I've only had the histories that I've personally preserved to research from and my tastes were... a bit more romantic. I could ask my Keeper whether there is a record any pair finding a way to undo a soulbond."

"I'm not sure that's wise," Fenris said. "You are a terrible liar. And when I say terrible, I mean utterly hopeless."

Fenris ignored the stray thought that said that this fact was one more thing in favor of Merrill speaking an uncomfortable truth when she spoke of their inconvenient bond.

"I doubt very much that if you broached the subject, even as a hypothetical situation, your Keeper would not be able to read you like a page of print, or at least become suddenly incapable of reading between the lines. She would have this little secret of ours out of you faster than you could say knife."

"And if that happens, the whole Clan would insist on us marrying," Merrill nodded in agreement.

"A fate to be avoided," he confirmed. "At least on my end of things."

His tone conveyed clearly that he still didn't think _she_ had any cause for complaint about the prospective bondmate that her heathen Goddess had supposedly chosen for her.

"Tha's some confidence you have there," she said with a slight edge to her tone.

"So until we can work out a way to sever this tie between us, we'll simply have to avoid contact with each other."

"It can't be that hard," Merrill said, suppressing another yawn. "We've managed just fine so far, after all."

Fenris hoped, after he bid her rest herself, that those were not famous last words. He extinguished the wicks on the lamps lighting the ger and pushed aside the tent flaps to walk out into the night.

"There he iii-iiis...!" Hawke singsonged, sounding suspiciously triumphant about something.

Fenris rolled his eyes in disgust with a healthy dose of disdain when there was assorted clapping, catcalls and wolf-whistles from the drunker members of the gathering. They were teasing him about what might have gone on between the two of them, all alone in a tent together. Those that knew him and how he felt about mages in general and Merrill in particular found the innuendo doubly amusing he would imagine.

"Polishing your sword there, are we Fenris?" the irritating rogue called over, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

The drunken sots next to them seemed to find that hilariously funny, there was clapping and other lascivious comments. Fenris elected to ignore them all with a dignity they didn't deserve, save for the scowl of insult at the implication he sent their way.

Hawke was grinning in the same way that Isabella would have grinned; like they were already mentally penning the hot, steamy love scene between him and the person he had just been alone with for the last hour.

"No."

That was all Fenris said, that was all he needed to say. In light of the situation, that was all he would ever say.


End file.
